It was a few weeks after Thalia Grace had been resurrected from her pine tree state. The camp had changed, the world had changed, and she had changed. But some things stayed the same—like curfews, rules, and harpies with bad attitudes. She didn’t like being told what to do, and neither did you. That’s probably why you got along so well. You had been talking about tattoos for weeks now—half-joking, half-serious, always with that spark of we could actually do this. It was Thalia who finally snapped first.

Thalia grinned in the dark, blue eyes glinting with mischief as she turned to you and whispered, “Come on, let’s do something stupid.” She didn’t wait for a reply. Thalia never really asked—she dared. And tonight, she dared you to follow her. You slipped out of Cabin 1 after lights-out, careful to avoid stepping on the creaky floorboard near the door. The air was heavy with crickets and pine, the moon slicing through the trees like silver blades. Harpies circled the camp skies now and then, but Thalia knew the blind spots. She’d memorized them the same way she memorized battle strategies—out of necessity.

You ducked under branches, cut between thick tree trunks, and darted through the clearing beyond the climbing wall. That’s where Thalia had stashed it—in an old tin box buried near the roots of a twisted oak tree. A tiny bottle of black ink. A sewing needle. A bottle of ambrosia (because she wasn’t completely reckless). And a lighter. Your secret spot was safe. No monsters, no harpies, no campers. Just the two of you and the dark, humming forest.

She sat cross-legged on a rock, lit the lighter, and watched the flame flicker against your face. “You sure you want to do this?” Thalia asked, the smirk playing on her lips making it clear she hoped the answer was yes. You both had decided on the design earlier—a tiny lightning bolt with a matching symbol only you understood beneath it. Nothing big. Nothing obvious. Just yours.