Zeinab wasn’t interested in the sports game or the guys hacking each other up with swords and spears. As soon as she left cabin twelve, she’d made a beeline to the south end of the green. A path wound through strawberry fields along the river, finally leading to a set of steps that went up, up, up, until it almost disappeared in mist along the crest of Half-Blood Hill. Zeinab sighed. She loved this place.

It was just barely dawn, but the sky was already a beautiful shade of blue and the air was as crisp as fresh-baked bread. It was early May—just about the absolute best time for hiking in New York State. The woods were carpeted with bluebells. Bluebirds were nesting alongside the trail. And from the top of Half-Blood Hill, Zeinab could watch the sun come up from her favorite spot, her sacred spot.