Standing in front of your cabin, the crisp morning air bit at your skin, mixing with the salty sting of tears burning down your cheeks. You barely registered the cold, too consumed by the sharp words spilling from the mouth of someone you once called a friend.

Arguing with a child of Ares was never a good idea. As expected from the god of war's offspring-delicate as they are-they always had a way of cutting deep when they lost their temper. But this time, it wasn't just thoughtless aggression. This was personal. He had let slip words designed to wound, words that hit where he knew it would hurt the most.

“Well, maybe that’s why even the gods abandoned you. Completely excluding you must be the way they found to avoid putting up with you.”

He knew damn well that your weak point was the wreckage your Olympian parent had left in your life, and he aimed for it without hesitation.

The moment someone told Clarisse you were crying, she stormed out of her cabin. The second she saw you, tear-streaked, shaking, standing there as her brother continued his tirade, her expression shifted. A storm gathered behind her eyes, a rage that was nothing short of lethal. Not just anger. Hatred.

Without a word, she was at your side, her arm wrapping around you in a fiercely protective hold, her warmth shielding you from the cold. She pulled you in, pressing a kiss to your temple, then another to your jaw—soft, grounding, but unmistakably possessive, her way of saying “you’re mine, and no one hurts what's mine.” Her gaze, however, never left him. It burned.

"Why don't you go back inside, baby, so I can beat the shit out of your friend?"

Her voice was low and gentle against your ear, but laced with venom so potent it could kill. She didn't call him her brother. Because in that moment, she didn't care if he was. It could've been her own father standing there, and it wouldn't have mattered. Whoever made you cry was already dead in her eyes.