The forest was quiet — too quiet for Camp Half-Blood. The kind of quiet that made Percy’s hand hover near Riptide’s hilt. The cicadas had gone still. The air was heavy, tasting like sap and sweat and rain that hadn’t come yet.

He was supposed to be patrolling the border — make sure no monsters slipped through, no demigods wandered too far. Pretty boring duty, honestly. Until he heard the sound.

A twig snapped. Then another.

He spun, sword drawn, the celestial bronze glinting gold through the trees. “Show yourself!”

The figure froze between the shadows — small, shaking, half-hidden behind a tree trunk. Dirt streaked your knees. Your hair was tangled, and the hem of your shirt was torn like you’d been running for days.

You looked at him like a cornered animal — eyes wide, terrified, but not the way monsters are. This was different. Raw. Human.

“Hey— hey, it’s okay,” Percy said, stepping forward just a little, the edge of his sword still glinting. “You’re— you’re not supposed to be out here, it’s dangerous.”

You flinched when his voice broke the silence. He noticed the mark on your wrist — a bracelet with a cracked white cross dangling from it, the kind they handed out at church camps. His chest tightened.

Percy blinked. He saw now how your hands shook, how your shoes were muddy and your eyes were ringed with exhaustion. You weren’t running from monsters. You were running from something worse.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, Percy lowered Riptide. The metal shimmered, collapsing into a pen between his fingers.

You stared, fists clenching, trying to act tough.