You didn’t fall into being a traitor.

You chose it, the way you choose the tide when you stop fighting the pull. Olympus was broken long before you ever touched it, and you refused to keep pretending otherwise. Luke followed because he needed someone braver than his anger. Percy never followed because Percy still believed.

You asked Percy to meet you at the beach because it was the only place that still felt honest.

The shore is quiet when you arrive, waves rolling in steady and indifferent, the sky washed pale with late light. Footprints trail behind you in the sand, already softening, already disappearing. You stand with your back to the water, watching the horizon like it might answer you.

Percy’s footsteps come fast, uneven. He slows when he sees you, like he’s afraid this is a trick, like if he moves wrong you’ll vanish. Salt clings to his hair, sword at his side, hope still stubborn in his posture. For a moment, it almost feels like nothing’s changed.