The campfire had long since burned to embers, but the argument had not.

Annabeth’s voice cut through the clearing, low but sharp, like a knife trying to stay sheathed.

“You don’t get it, do you?”

she hissed, standing rigid across from {{user}}. Her fists balled at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

“Percy doesn’t need distractions. He needs someone steady. Someone who understands him. Someone who doesn’t just orbit him.”

Percy froze halfway out of the trees. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop — he’d just been walking back, restless from patrol — but their names tangled together in Annabeth’s words, and his feet refused to move.

{{user}} stood in the glow of the fire, shoulders squared, expression unreadable. They didn’t speak, didn’t rise to Annabeth’s bait. But the silence between them was heavy, thick enough that Percy swore he could choke on it.

Annabeth stepped closer, her voice tightening.

“I’ve fought for him. Bled for him. I’ve been at his side when no one else was. You think you’re better for him? You’re not. You’ll never be.”

The embers cracked, sending up a spray of sparks. Percy’s throat went dry. He should have stepped in, should have said something — but instead he lingered in the shadows, watching the tension coil tighter and tighter, watching {{user}} stand their ground without saying a word.

Annabeth’s eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to something dangerous, almost pleading beneath the anger.

“Face it. He’ll always choose me.”