THALIA GRACE

There are two things everyone at Camp Half-Blood learns surprisingly quickly about Thalia Grace.

The first is that arguing with her is usually a waste of energy.

The second is that if something goes missing, it is worth checking whether she's wearing it before assuming it's been lost forever.

It isn't malicious.

It isn't even deliberate half the time.

Somehow, things simply... migrate.

A hoodie left over the back of a chair.

A pair of fingerless gloves forgotten after weapons practice.

A well-worn flannel draped over a cabin railing to dry.

Given enough time, there is a very real chance those items will reappear somewhere on Thalia's person, worn with enough confidence that everyone else begins questioning who owned them in the first place.

Campers have stopped being surprised.

Children of Hermes admire the efficiency.

The Athena cabin has attempted—unsuccessfully—to calculate the probability of it happening.

Even Chiron has long since given up asking questions whenever Thalia walks into dinner wearing something that clearly belonged to someone else that morning.

You, unfortunately, are one of her most frequent victims.

Not because she singles you out.

At least, that's what she insists.

According to Thalia, your clothes are simply "comfortable."

A very convenient explanation.

You learned months ago that there were only two ways to own something you genuinely liked.

Either never let Thalia know it existed...

...or buy two.

One for yourself.

One for the inevitable day it quietly vanished.

The system worked surprisingly well.

Most of the time.

Your favourite jacket, however, wasn't replaceable.

It wasn't expensive.

It wasn't enchanted.

It certainly wasn't impressive enough to attract attention from monsters or gods.

It was simply old.

The faded fabric had softened over years of wear, the sleeves creased naturally around the elbows, and the stitching near one pocket had begun to fray despite repeated attempts to repair it. Every mark told part of its history. There were tiny scuffs from climbing rocks during your first summer at camp, a loose thread left over from a sparring accident, and a barely noticeable stain near one cuff that refused to wash out no matter what detergent the Apollo cabin recommended.

More importantly, it had been with you since your first concert.

Every time you pulled it on, it carried pieces of memories most people would never recognize.

The music.

The crowd.

The lights.

The feeling of standing among complete strangers while somehow feeling connected to every one of them.

It wasn't just clothing.

It was familiar.

Comfortable.

Home in the shape of fabric.

You distinctly remembered folding it.

The memory wasn't vague.

You could picture it perfectly.

Late evening.

Your cabin.

The jacket draped neatly over the back of your chair after a long day of training. You'd planned to wear it again once the evening breeze rolled through camp.

Simple.

Ordinary.

The sort of moment nobody expects to remember.

The next morning...

It was gone.

At first, you assumed you'd misplaced it.

That happened often enough around camp.

Cabins were busy.

People borrowed things.

Laundry had a mysterious habit of wandering.

You checked beneath your bunk.

Nothing.

Inside your trunk.

Nothing.

Hooks by the cabin entrance.

Nothing.

You searched beneath blankets, behind chairs, under piles of armour, inside every drawer you owned despite knowing it wouldn't magically appear somewhere impossible.

Nothing.

You asked your cabinmates.

Most shrugged sympathetically.

One offered to help search.

Another suggested checking the pavilion.

Someone else wondered if the harpies had mistaken it for abandoned laundry.

Over the following days, the search expanded.

The lost and found.

The Big House.

The arena.

The canoe lake.

The climbing wall.

You retraced entire afternoons trying to remember whether you'd taken it somewhere without thinking.

Nothing.

A week passed.

Then another.

Eventually, you accepted the obvious conclusion.

Somewhere along the way, it had simply disappeared.

Camp Half-Blood had a way of swallowing possessions when you least expected it.

Life moved on.

Training resumed.

Meals came and went.

Quests departed.

The missing jacket slowly became one of those mildly disappointing mysteries that never seemed likely to solve themselves.

Until one bright afternoon.

The sky stretched cloudless above the valley, brilliant blue interrupted only by pegasi circling lazily overhead.

The camp hummed with its usual rhythm.

Children of Hephaestus argued loudly outside the forge.

Several younger campers chased one another across the green.

The scent of strawberries drifted faintly on the breeze.

You were crossing the central path when movement near the Zeus cabin caught your attention.

Someone stepped outside.

Dark hair.

Confident stride.

Effortlessly relaxed posture.

Thalia.

Nothing unusual there.

Then your eyes drifted downward.

Your steps slowed.

Because draped comfortably across her shoulders...

...was your jacket.

Not one similar to it.

Not the same brand.

Not the same colour.

Yours.

The tiny tear near one cuff.

The repaired stitching.

Even the faded patch near one shoulder.

Every familiar detail stared back at you.

For a long moment your brain simply stopped working.

The rest of camp carried on around you.

Campers walked past.

Someone called for sword practice.

A whistle sounded somewhere near the arena.

None of it reached you.

Your entire attention remained fixed on the impossible sight walking casually across camp as though nothing unusual had happened.

Meanwhile, Thalia looked completely at home wearing it.

The sleeves had been rolled back just enough to expose the leather bracelets circling her wrists.

The oversized fit somehow worked perfectly.

The worn fabric that had taken years to soften looked as though it had always belonged there.

She carried it with the same effortless confidence she carried everything else.

Which, somehow, made the situation even more irritating.

Because it looked...

Good.

Ridiculously good.

Infuriatingly good.

You wanted very badly to focus on the principle of the situation.

Personal property.

Basic boundaries.

The fact that your favourite jacket had vanished for two entire weeks without explanation.

Instead, your brain kept insisting on noticing how naturally she wore it.

As though the jacket itself had decided this was where it preferred to be.

She spotted you almost immediately.

Storm-grey eyes met yours across the path.

Recognition appeared first.

Then amusement.

A grin slowly spread across her face.

Not guilty.

Definitely not apologetic.

Just unmistakably entertained.

She glanced down at the jacket as though only just remembering she happened to be wearing it.

One eyebrow lifted.

A look that practically said, Oh. This?

She wandered closer without the slightest trace of urgency.

The afternoon breeze tugged lightly at the loose fabric.

Campers passing nearby began noticing the silent exchange developing.

Several slowed ever so slightly.

Children of Hermes exchanged knowing looks.

One of the Apollo campers quietly elbowed their sibling before pointing toward the unmistakable jacket.

Word travelled fast around camp.

Apparently, so did entertainment.

By the time Thalia stopped a few feet away, the grin hadn't left her face.

She adjusted the collar absentmindedly before brushing an imaginary speck of dust from one sleeve.

The movement only made matters worse.

It suited her.

Far too well.

For several long seconds, neither of you spoke.

Not because there was nothing to say.

Because the situation itself seemed almost too ridiculous for words.

Then she broke the silence with the sort of confidence only Thalia Grace could manage.

"Found this."

Found.

As though it had appeared out of thin air.

As though it hadn't disappeared directly from your cabin.

As though there wasn't an entire two-week investigation behind it.

The explanation somehow raised more questions than it answered.

A laugh escaped from somewhere behind you.

Another followed.

Even a few passing campers struggled to hide amused smiles.

Not because anyone was laughing at you.

Because this felt entirely predictable.

This was, somehow, exactly the sort of thing Thalia would do.

You looked from her...

...to the jacket...

...then back again.

There wasn't much room left for genuine annoyance.

Not when she looked so completely convinced this sequence of events made perfect sense.

Not when the absurdity of it had become impossible to ignore.

She noticed the expression beginning to crack despite your best efforts.

Her grin widened triumphantly.

Without another word, she shrugged the jacket from her shoulders and held it out.

Not reluctantly.

Not dramatically.

Simply offering it back as though returning a borrowed pen.

The fabric still carried the faint scent of pine trees and fresh air after spending days following her around camp.

The sleeves remained comfortably warm from the afternoon sun.

As soon as it settled back into your hands, it felt exactly the way you remembered.

Familiar.

Broken in.

Comforting.

A little piece of normal returned.

Thalia folded her arms, entirely pleased with herself.

There wasn't an apology.

There didn't really need to be.

Somehow, both of you understood that this would almost certainly happen again.

Maybe not with this jacket.

Maybe next time it would be a hoodie.

Or gloves.

Or another flannel mysteriously wandering away for several days before reappearing on Thalia's shoulders as though it had completed some important journey.

Around camp, life continued uninterrupted.

The spectators gradually dispersed, their brief entertainment over.

Someone called everyone back toward afternoon training.

The forge resumed its steady ringing.

The valley settled once again into its familiar rhythm.

You slipped the jacket back on.

It fit exactly as it always had.

Across from you, Thalia glanced at it once before giving a satisfied nod, as though approving its return.

Some friendships were built through grand adventures and impossible quests.

Others were built through countless small moments that made absolutely no sense to anyone else.

Missing jackets.

Unspoken understanding.

The certainty that, no matter how exasperating the other person could be, camp would feel noticeably quieter without them.

You made a quiet mental note to keep a closer eye on your wardrobe from now on.

Then, almost immediately, you realised it probably wouldn't make much difference.

Some habits were simply part of who Thalia was.

And, despite everything, Camp Half-Blood somehow felt a little more like home because of them.