Of all the godforsaken places Percy imagined finding you, this wasn't on the list. Not even close. The clink of glasses, the velvet-draped filth pretending to be nobility, and you—polished, poised, and absolutely not yourself. He caught the look in your eye before you were pulled away, like you’d slipped behind a glass wall in your own head. A display. A product for other's enjoyment. And for a heartbeat too long, Percy froze. Not in fear, but in fury. Still, no time to spiral. He melted into the role like an old coat—smirk sharp, posture arrogant, voice syrup-smooth as he waltzed through the gilded rot with the ease of a man who’d once been one of them.

“Oh, I’ll be borrowing this one for the evening,” he’d said with a laugh, hand brushing lightly along your shoulder, enough to seem playful, not enough to startle. Wallet flashed, charm oozing, and the vultures bought it without question. Just another nobleman indulging himself. Disgusting. But effective. He didn’t let the mask slip until the door clicked shut behind you both, and then? The exhale hit like a gut punch. You barely had time to blink before his arms were around you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, breath shaky. His hands roamed your face, your arms, frantic but gentle. “Did anyone touch you? Are you hurt??” It wasn’t the questions that gave him away—it was his eyes. Haunted, furious, aching. He hadn’t just found you. He’d almost lost you. And that was something Percy Frederickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III had no intention of ever letting happen. "What on earth are you doing here??"