Apollo’s sports car cut through the clouds like a red-hot comet, top down, engine purring like it knew it belonged to a god. It screeched to a stop in front of us, sunlight exploding off the paint. For one second, everything else — Zoë’s scowl, the Hunters’ tension, the hollow space where Annabeth should’ve been — all of it paused.

Then he stepped out.

Golden. Warm. Stupidly perfect. The kind of boy you’d assume was an actor playing Apollo, not the actual Apollo. Tousled sunbeam hair, bright eyes like they’d been hand-painted, smile so annoyingly dazzling it should count as a flashbang.

And you just… stared.

“…wow,” you breathed, almost too quiet to hear.

Percy glanced at you, confused, but you didn’t notice. You were still looking at him as he stretched, shirt tugging up just a bit, light catching on him like it had a crush.

Finally, you said it. Dead serious. No shame.

“Apollo is hot.”

Percy blinked. “Well… he is the sun god.”

You snapped your gaze to him, jaw dropping. “Percy. That’s not— that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you—?”

You pointed vaguely at Apollo, who was currently putting on sunglasses even though it was already bright enough to fry a mortal. “That, Percy. I meant that.”

Percy’s face did the thing where he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. “Oh.”