The fire crackled softly between you, its glow painting warm streaks across Annabeth’s face. She had her sketchbook in her lap, half-open, the edges of the paper curling slightly from use. Her pencil moved in quick, precise strokes, but the lines didn’t seem to form anything coherent. not the clean, geometric shapes she usually favored. Her hand paused, hovering above the page as though unsure what to do next.

She glanced at you, her gray eyes catching the firelight. There was something restless in the way her gaze lingered, as if she were searching for something, some unspoken reassurance she couldn’t quite name. She looked back down quickly, tapping the pencil against the edge of the book in a staccato rhythm. It was a nervous habit she didn’t normally have, and the sound made her wince, but she didn’t stop.

“I’ve been thinking about your cabin,” she said suddenly, the words rushing out like they’d been waiting for an excuse to escape. “The roofline doesn’t make sense, you know? Not with the slope of the hill. If they’d consulted me when they built it…” Her voice trailed off, and she frowned at the half-drawn shapes on the page.

The silence stretched for a moment too long. Her grip tightened on the pencil, and then she exhaled, setting it down carefully beside her. She shifted her weight, just slightly closer to you. It wasn’t obvious, but the edge of her knee brushed yours, and she didn’t move away. She didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she did, but she didn’t let on either way.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with the Apollo kids lately,” she said, her tone light, almost casual. “You know they’re mostly just show-offs, right? Good with a bow, sure, but all their little songs and… whatever. They don’t exactly know how to take things seriously.”