Kate Gardner came back to camp carried on the shoulders of the Hermes and Demeter cabins.
Not dramatically. Not like a hero's procession. More like — someone had picked her up at some point during the celebration and the situation had escalated before anyone thought to stop it. She was holding the flag. She looked mildly surprised by all of it. The flag did not look surprised. The flag had done its job.
Percy was walking beside them going on about strategy and positioning and we knew the left flank was open with the energy of someone who had won and intended to make sure everyone within earshot understood the full shape of that win. The Stoll brothers flanked him doing the same thing louder and less accurately, filling in details Percy hadn't mentioned, most of which appeared to be invented.
Annabeth was three steps behind Percy.
Percy glanced back at her.
Read her expression.
Stopped talking about strategy.
Travis looked at Connor. Connor looked at Travis. They both looked at Clarisse who was walking just behind the Ares kids with the expression of someone who had spent the evening covered in glitter and then fought a prolonged brawl in the woods and was now carrying both of those things simultaneously.
The Stoll brothers also stopped talking.
Marcus and Beckendorf were side by side near the back. Both battered. Marcus had a split lip. Beckendorf had what was going to be an impressive bruise along his jaw by morning. Neither of them looked like they minded. They were talking in the comfortable shorthand of two people who had hit each other very hard for an extended period and come out the other side with mutual respect. Marcus said something. Beckendorf laughed. Marcus laughed too.
The chariot race debt was settled.
And then — at the very back —
Thalia and I.
Both filthy. Both wrecked in the specific way of people who had spent twenty minutes trying to destroy each other and then been interrupted by hunger. Both moving toward the dining pavilion with the focused purposeful energy of two people for whom food had stopped being optional approximately twenty minutes ago.
We were not talking.
We did not need to talk.
We needed food.
DINNER
I sat down at the Big House table.
The plate filled itself.
Biryani. Butter chicken. Naan — three pieces, fresh, steaming. Water cold enough to make my teeth hurt.
I ate.
I was three bites in — maybe four — when I looked up and saw Percy across the pavilion already on what appeared to be his second plate and showed no signs of stopping.
Something in my brain said: challenge.
"Oi," I called across the pavilion.
Percy looked up.
I pointed at my plate. Pointed at his. Raised an eyebrow.
Percy looked at his plate. Looked at mine. The corner of his mouth moved.
Oh, said his expression. We're doing this.
He picked up his fork.
I picked up mine.
At the Zeus table — two logs over, alone as always — Thalia had been working through what appeared to be an entire roast chicken with zero ceremony and zero eye contact with anyone. She looked up. Looked at Percy. Looked at me. Looked at her plate.
Put her head down and started eating faster.
Nobody had invited her. She had self-selected. This was correct.
The three of us ate with the focused feral intensity of people for whom this had become a matter of personal honour. Percy's plate kept refilling. Mine kept refilling. Thalia's kept refilling. The dining pavilion magic, to its credit, kept up.
"Are they —" Connor started.
"Yes," Travis said.
"Should we —"
"Obviously." Travis was already moving. "Ten drachmas on Percy —"
"Fifteen on Aditya —"
"I'll take Thalia for twenty —"
"Enough."
Chiron's voice. Not loud. Just — final.
The Stoll brothers sat down.
Chiron looked at the three of us eating with competitive intensity across three separate tables.
Looked at Mr. D.
Mr. D sipped his Diet Coke. "Don't look at me. I find this delightful."
Chiron pinched the bridge of his nose.
I ate my biryani.
Which —
Oh.
Right.
I should mention.
Camp Half-Blood has magical food. Whatever you want, however much you want, it just appears. I have been eating biryani and butter chicken and fresh naan since approximately week two.
I forgot to tell you.
You're welcome.
Mr. D looked at me over his Diet Coke.
"You and the Grace girl," he said. "Quite the evening."
"She was trying to take the flag."
"And yet," he said, "neither of you seemed particularly interested in the flag by the end." A sip. "You left a crater. In the ground. And furrows. Four distinct furrows."
"The grounds team will manage," Chiron said.
"I'm sure they will," Mr. D said pleasantly. "Wait we have a grounds team ?"
I ate my naan.
Percy looked across at my plate. "What even is that."
"Biryani."
"Biri — what —"
"Biryani. Rice. Spices. Chicken. Life changing."
Percy looked at his plate. Blue pasta. Looked back at mine.
"Why is mine not that."
"Because you ordered blue pasta Percy —"
"Blue food tastes better —"
"That is not true —"
"Have you tried blue food —"
"I am not going to try blue —"
"THEN YOU CANNOT COMMENT —"
From the Zeus table, without looking up from her roast chicken:
"Both of you are embarrassing."
Percy and I stopped.
Looked at her.
She had an entire roast chicken in front of her and was working through it with zero ceremony and zero apology.
"She has a whole chicken," Percy said.
"She does," I agreed.
"Just sitting there."
"Whole chicken."
"Entire chicken."
Thalia looked up. Looked at both of us. Looked back down.
"Eat," she said.
We ate.
Percy finished his plate. It refilled. He looked at mine which had also refilled.
"How are you eating that much."
"Dragon heart," I said. "Elevated metabolism."
"That's not fair."
"Many things about me are not fair Percy."
"You have fire powers AND better metabolism AND —"
"And what."
He gestured vaguely at me. At the biryani. At the general situation.
"Everything," he said.
"You control the ocean."
"That's different —"
"Percy you can breathe underwater."
"...okay fine."
"And you're complaining to me about unfairness."
From the Zeus table: "BOTH OF YOU. EAT."
We ate.
Dinner ended with three people who had eaten significantly past the point of good judgement and were now paying the price.
Percy had his head on the Poseidon table.
Thalia had her arms crossed on the Zeus table and her chin on her arms.
I was staring at the ceiling of the dining pavilion contemplating the specific consequences of challenging two people to a food consumption contest when all three of you have access to magically refilling plates.
Nobody was moving.
Nobody was going to move.
The dining pavilion was very quiet.
Then from somewhere outside —
"SMORES —"
"CAMPFIRE SMORES LET'S GO —"
Connor and Travis Stoll, running past the pavilion at full speed toward the amphitheatre with the energy of people who had not just eaten their own bodyweight and were therefore functional human beings.
Percy's head came up.
Thalia's head came up.
I looked at both of them.
"...Smores," Percy said.
"Smores," Thalia confirmed.
"Smores," I agreed.
We got up.
Slowly. With great effort. Like three people whose bodies had filed formal complaints and been overruled.
We walked toward the amphitheatre in single file with the collective energy of people being pulled by a force they didn't fully understand but weren't going to argue with.
The campfire was already going. Low and gold. Connor had the guitar out — still technically musical against his will. Half the camp was already there, finding logs, assembling marshmallow sticks, the whole ritual running itself the way it always did.
I found a log at the back.
Four marshmallow sticks.
Did not touch the campfire.
Percy found me in seven minutes.
"You're not roasting them."
"Correct."
"The fire is right there —"
"I know where the fire is."
"Then why —"
I snapped my fingers.
Small golden flame. Fingertip. Moved along the marshmallow with the patience and precision of something that knew exactly what it was doing.
Perfect golden brown. All four. Thirty seconds.
Percy stared.
"That is completely unfair."
"It's efficient."
"You used POWERS for SMORES —"
"Same thing —"
"ANNABETH —" He turned. "ARE YOU SEEING THIS —"
Annabeth looked up. Looked at me. Looked at Percy.
"Why," she said. Not a question. A verdict.
"It works," I said.
She went back to her smore.
Percy stood there looking personally wronged for a full three seconds.
Then footsteps.
Thalia. Six sticks. She stopped in front of me, arm extended, waiting.
I looked at the sticks. Looked at her. Looked at the campfire four feet away.
"That," I said, "is a perfectly functional —"
"Do mine."
Percy immediately held out all his sticks. Grinning.
"Mine too."
"Percy —"
Annabeth appeared at his shoulder. Sticks extended. Expression: unapologetic.
I looked at all of them.
Is this my fate, I thought. Is this genuinely what my life is.
I snapped my fingers. Marshmallow by marshmallow. Perfect golden brown. Every single one.
They sat down around me without asking. Thalia cross legged in front. Percy to my left. Annabeth beside him.
Percy assembled his smore. Took a bite. Looked at me.
"Okay you're basically a campfire."
"I am not —"
"You're portable fire. You're a campfire with legs."
"I am a warrior —"
"Who roasts marshmallows with his fingers."
"That is a completely separate skill set —"
"Is it though."
"YES —"
"How."
"Because one involves combat and the other involves dessert —"
"You just combined them —"
"I did not combine them —"
"You used combat fire for dessert. That's a combination. That's literally the definition of —"
"I will throw you into the actual campfire —"
"You are the campfire —"
"I WILL THROW MYSELF INTO THE CAMPFIRE JUST TO PROVE A POINT —"
"That proves nothing —"
"IT PROVES I AM NOT THE CAMPFIRE —"
Thalia looked up from her smore. Looked at me. Looked at Percy.
"He's got you there," she said. To Percy.
"THANK YOU —" I started.
"You're still portable fire though," she said. Back to her smore.
Percy pointed at her. "SEE —"
"WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON —"
"The correct side," Thalia said. Eating.
Annabeth put her face in her hands.
"I am surrounded," she said, to nobody. "By actual children."
"He started it —" I said.
"He always starts it," she said. "You always finish it. It's the same every time."
"That's not —"
"It is exactly —"
Thalia looked up from her smore.
"Where's Luke," she said.
Simple. Straightforward. She'd been carrying it since she woke up and this was the first time it had come out.
The three of us went quiet simultaneously.
Percy looked at me. Annabeth looked at me. I looked at both of them.
You didn't tell her.
Percy's eyes: we couldn't —
Annabeth's eyes: she woke up calling for him. Would YOU have told her.
I looked at them for a long moment.
...Fair, I conceded.
Thalia was watching all three of us. Reading the silence. Something shifting behind her eyes.
"What about Luke," she said. Quieter now.
"I'm not stupid," she said. Before any of us could speak. "I've been here a week. I've seen the way people look when his name comes up. The way you look." She glanced at Percy. At Annabeth. At me. "I've been waiting for someone to just — say it."
Silence.
"So say it," she said.
Percy opened his mouth. The voice of someone choosing words very carefully —
Annabeth's hand on his arm. He stopped.
She looked at Thalia.
"He's working for the enemy," she said. "The one who's been moving against Olympus. He's been with them for a while."
Clean. Direct. No cushion. No names.
Thalia stared at her.
"That's —" She stopped. Started again. "Luke wouldn't —"
"He poisoned your tree," Percy said. "Deliberately. Elder python venom from Tartarus. He arranged the whole thing."
"NO —"
"He confessed it," Percy said. "In front of the whole camp. Iris message. He didn't deny it. Didn't apologise."
"You're lying —"
"Thalia —"
"WHY would Luke poison the tree — why would he — that makes no sense — what would he even gain —"
"He wanted the Fleece," Percy said. "Either the poison kills the camp's defences or we go get the Fleece to save it. Either way the barrier weakens."
"That's —" She stopped. "That's not — Luke wouldn't think like that —"
"He did," Annabeth said. Quiet.
"You don't know —"
"Thalia —"
"You don't KNOW HIM like I do — you met him when you were seven — I was with him — three years on the streets, just us, I know exactly how he thinks and he would never —"
"He carried me for two years," Annabeth said. Very flat. Very quiet. "I know him too."
Thalia's mouth closed.
Opened.
"Then you know there's an explanation," she said. Less certain now. Still loud. "There's always an explanation with Luke — his father, everything Hermes put him through — being angry doesn't make you —"
"He's not just angry," Percy said. "He's with them. Actively. Planning. Giving orders."
"People give orders when they're scared —"
"Thalia —"
"He had nothing — his whole life he had nothing and nobody came for him and maybe he just — maybe he made a mistake and now he can't get out and you're all just —"
"He's the reason Aditya had to kill three demigods."
Silence.
Complete. Total.
Thalia stopped mid-breath.
I turned to look at Annabeth.
"How," I said. Flat. "How do you know that."
Annabeth's expression didn't move. "Zoe told me. In confidence. Asked me to keep an eye on you so you didn't do something idiotic."
A pause.
"Unfortunately," she said, "I failed that mission."
I stared at her.
"You —"
"The point," Annabeth said, turning back to Thalia, "is that people have been dying. Demigods. On his orders. Following his direction. And it's not stopping."
Nobody said anything for a while.
We ate our smores.
They didn't taste the same.
The fire burned low. The guitar had stopped somewhere along the way. The camp thinned out — people drifting back to cabins, conversations winding down, until it was just us and the dying fire.
Percy stood up first. Looked at the direction Thalia had gone.
Annabeth shook her head. Not tonight.
He nodded. Looked at me. Said nothing. Didn't need to.
They left together.
Then Grover. Quiet footsteps fading into the dark.
Then just me.
I poked the last ember with a stick. It glowed once. Faded.
She's going to take that hard.
Obviously. Of course she was. Seven years in a tree and the first real thing anyone tells her is that the person she woke up asking for had been working against everything she loved the entire time.
I'd take that hard, I thought. I'd take that extremely hard.
My brain sat with this for a moment.
Then, completely unbidden:
Sparring,it said.
I looked at the dead fire.
...What.
Tomorrow. Early. Grab her and Clarisse.
That, I said to my brain, is a completely chaotic response to an emotional situation.
She needs something to hit, my brain said.
She has feelings. Not a target.
Same thing.
They are NOT the same —
When have YOU ever felt better without hitting something.
I thought about this.
...That's not the point —
Clarisse won't go easy on her.
That's actually worse —
Is it.
I thought about this too.
Clarisse going full force at someone who needed to not think about Luke Castellan for an hour. Someone who needed their body to be too busy surviving to let their brain do the thing brains did with grief.
...Fine, I said.
See, said my brain, with the insufferable energy of something that had been right and knew it.
Don't, I said.
It didn't say anything else. It had made its point.
I got up.
Tomorrow. Early.
Sparring.
It wasn't therapy. It wasn't a solution. It was Clarisse La Rue with a spear and absolutely no interest in anyone's emotional state.
Which was, somehow, exactly what was needed.
END CHAPTER