You were the meanest kid at camp. Not loud like Clarisse. Not explosive. You were precise. Cruel in quiet ways. You knew exactly what to say to make someone feel small. You didn’t need fists — you used words. Smiles that didn’t reach your eyes. Little comments slipped in front of the right audience.

And you always had your little orbit of followers. People laughed when you laughed. They backed you up. They made sure no one challenged you. Except… You’d never aimed any of it at Will.

You didn’t even really know why. Maybe because he always looked like he had too much light in him. Maybe because he helped people you’d pushed too far and never once looked at you with fear. Just disappointment. And that annoyed you more than anything.

But Percy? Percy was oblivious. And so was Will. They were twelve. Will still believed the best in people.

Your friends had been chosen for a quest that morning. A real one. Dangerous. Important. You’d assumed your name would be called. You were strong. Skilled. Ruthless enough to survive anything. But Chiron had said no. Punishment. “For repeated misconduct.” He’d said it calmly. Like he was reading the weather. And then he’d sent you away. Your friends didn’t look back.

You’d stormed out to the far field past the archery range. And somehow—Will had followed you. He had his lunch in one hand, sunlight practically clinging to him like it belonged there. Blond hair glowing. Camp shirt too big on his skinny frame.

He sat down beside you without asking. Close. Not touching. But close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. You didn’t bring food. You didn’t want it. Your jaw ached from clenching. Across camp, your friends were laughing, showing off gear, basking in attention.

Will noticed where you were looking. He didn’t comment at first. He just unwrapped his sandwich. The grass swayed around you in soft waves. “You really wanted to go,” he said eventually. Not accusing. Just stating it gently.

You didn’t answer. Your silence wasn’t sharp — it was heavy. Will glanced at you sideways. You expected judgment. You expected a lecture. You expected something bright and irritatingly optimistic. Instead, he nudged his apple toward you. You didn’t take it. He didn’t push. He just let it sit between you like an offering. The wind shifted. You caught the distant echo of your friends cheering.

Your chest twisted. You were angry. At Chiron. At them. At the fact that without your group behind you, you suddenly felt smaller. Will shifted closer — just enough that your shoulders brushed. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t meaningful in a big way. It was absentminded. Natural. Like he didn’t think twice about being next to you. Like you weren’t the kid half of camp avoided. Like you weren’t the reason he’d had to treat bruises and bloody noses more than once.

He didn’t flinch at the tension rolling off you. Didn’t move away. Just sat there in the sun. Soft. Patient. Infuriatingly kind. “You know,” he said quietly, eyes still on the field, “sometimes not going is the thing that saves you.”

You scoffed faintly. But your anger was thinning. Because Will wasn’t scared of you. He wasn’t impressed by you either. He just… saw you. And for the first time all day, sitting there with sunlight in your eyes and your friends leaving without you—You didn’t feel powerful. You felt exposed. And somehow, with Will beside you, that didn’t feel as terrifying as it should have.