He knew.

Of course he did — Percy always noticed more than he let on. The way your eyes flicked toward the woods whenever Chiron mentioned patrols. The way you hesitated before answering questions about where you’d been. The faint trace of celestial bronze dust that didn’t come from training.

He wasn’t supposed to say anything. The whole camp thought you were just another demigod — quiet, reliable, maybe a little too good at lying when you needed to. But he knew what you really were. Who you really worked for.

And still, he didn’t turn you in.

That was the worst part.

You caught him watching you sometimes — not angry, not afraid. Just… tired. Like he was carrying both your guilt and his own. You’d pass each other in the dining pavilion, your shoulders brushing, and it felt like the world paused for a second — like if either of you said a word, everything would shatter.

It wasn’t forgiveness. Not really. But it was something close. Something dangerous.

You’d done terrible things in the name of gods who didn’t deserve loyalty. And yet every time Percy stood beside you, sword drawn, back to back in battle, you wondered if maybe this was what redemption was supposed to feel like — sharp, impossible, and temporary.

Because he knew. And he still stood beside you anyway.

Right now you two sat at the beach after a party in silence as he processed the fact you really had betrayed the camp.