Percy twisted against the ropes until the coarse fibers burned his wrists raw. Salt spray stung his eyes, waves slamming against the hull somewhere below deck. The crew had dumped him in the hold like stolen cargo, ankles bound, arms tied behind him, hair dripping seawater onto the wooden boards. A lantern swung overhead, creaking with each roll of the ship.

One of your crewmates crouched in front of him — a broad-shouldered guy with gold rings in his ears and the constant reek of rum. “Well look at ye,” the man snickered, tapping Percy’s forehead with two fingers. “Son o’ the sea god himself… all tied up in his own father’s bathtub.”

Percy strained harder, jaw clenched. The ropes didn’t budge. “A shame,” the pirate went on, leaning back on his heels, “Cap’n’ll have fun with you. Might even sell you back to your friends piece by—”

Footsteps cut him off. Heavy. Controlled. A gait everyone on the ship recognized instantly. The pirate paled, stumbling back from Percy as the lantern swung wildly. You stepped into the doorway—silhouetted by the stormlight, coat dripping, expression unreadable. The crewman straightened instantly. Percy froze, breath caught in his throat.