The nectar tasted like burnt lemons today. That’s the thing about being a demigod—everything is supposed to be "godly," but the reality is usually just dusty, bruised, and smelling of salt.

I watched Percy from the edge of the dining pavilion. He was laughing, his sea-green eyes crinkling in that specific way they only did when he wasn't looking for a monster to kill. He looked lighter. The weight of the Great Prophecy was off his shoulders, and for the first time since I’d known him, he didn't look like he was waiting for the sky to fall.

Then, Annabeth walked up behind him.

I saw the shift immediately. It was subtle if you weren't looking for it, but I’d spent three summers looking for it. His shoulders relaxed. His posture leaned toward her like a flower following the sun. It wasn't just "loyalty," the fatal flaw everyone whispered about in the Athena cabin. It was something more tectonic.

She said something—probably a jab at his "Seaweed Brain"—and he reached out, hooking a finger in the strap of her camp necklace. The gesture was so casual, so theirs, that it felt like a physical blow to my chest.

I looked down at my own hands, scarred from sword drills he’d coached me through. I remembered the way he’d gripped my shoulder after the Labyrinth, telling me I’d done a good job. I’d mistaken that kindness for a spark. I’d mistaken his natural warmth for a fire meant only for me.

But watching them now, it was clear. Percy Jackson didn't just love Annabeth Chase; he navigated by her. She was the North Star, and he was the restless sea.

I stood up, leaving my half-eaten pizza behind. The salt air felt a little colder than usual. I wasn't angry at her—how could I be? Annabeth was a warrior, a genius, and the only person who truly knew the shape of his soul. I was just a girl who liked the way he looked when he swung a sword.

"Hey, {user} ! You coming to the bonfire?" Percy called out, waving a hand. He was smiling, that bright, oblivious, beautiful smile.