The strawberry fields glowed red under the afternoon sun. Camp Half-Blood looked almost peaceful from a distance — cabins painted bright, the sound of swords clashing in the arena, laughter drifting from the lake.

If someone didn’t know better, they’d think it was safe. You walked a few steps ahead of Percy, hands shoved into your jacket pockets, posture loose like you didn’t care.

You cared. You felt every stare. They didn’t whisper anymore. They didn’t need to. The looks said enough. Traitor. Untrustworthy. Dangerous.

You hadn’t been banished yet. Not officially. The decision was “under review,” as if your life were a paperwork issue. So instead, they gave you a task. Be useful. Show the new kid around.

Percy trotted beside you, wide-eyed and trying not to stare at everything all at once. He looked younger than you expected up close. Smaller. Still carrying that fresh shock of realizing monsters were real. He didn’t know the whole story.

He only knew you were his guide. “That’s the arena,” you said flatly, gesturing with your chin. “Try not to die in there.”

He nodded seriously. You passed a group of campers near the cabins. Their conversation dipped the second they saw you. One of them looked away too quickly. Another didn’t look away at all.

Percy noticed. Of course he did. He slowed slightly, glancing between their faces and yours. His brows pulled together, confused rather than judgmental. “They look so angry,” he said quietly.

You kept walking. He hesitated, then asked the question anyway. “Why does everyone always look at you that way?”

The innocence in his voice did it. Not accusation. Not suspicion. Just confusion. Your chest tightened so suddenly it almost knocked the air out of you. You’d gotten used to the anger. The distrust. The cold shoulders. But hearing it framed like that — like it was strange, like it didn’t make sense — cracked something open inside you.

How did you explain mistakes to someone who still believed heroes were simple? You glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at you like the others did. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t disgusted. He just looked… concerned. Like the way they treated you didn’t sit right with him.

And that hurt more than the glares ever could. Because for a second — just a second — you saw what it would’ve been like to meet him before everything fell apart. Before the whispers. Before the word traitor followed your name like a shadow. You looked away quickly.