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Percy still kept the letters. Each one, hidden among his things in Poseidon's cabin, edges wrinkled, ink slightly smudged from the camp's humidity.
He hadn't read them in weeks, but he didn’t need to—he remembered every word. Luke had written with the warmth of someone who knew his fears too well, as if every sentence was a promise wrapped in lies.
"Trust me," he had said. "I'll always be on your side." And Percy, stupid as he was, had believed him.
His fists clenched around the paper. There was no point in keeping them. He knew he had to get rid of them, that holding onto them only prolonged something that had never been real. But he still couldn't.
"You're still thinking about him."
Annabeth stood a few steps away, arms crossed, her expression tense. She didn’t sound accusing, just tired. Percy didn’t look at her.
"No."
"You're lying."
He didn’t try to deny it.
Annabeth stepped closer carefully, as if she feared he might explode at any moment. Her eyes flicked over the letters in his hand before looking at him. Percy couldn't tell if it was compassion or frustration.
"Why do you keep defending him?"
Percy closed his eyes for a moment.
"I'm not defending him."
"But you're not letting him go either."
Silence settled between them, heavy as a storm, and he could almost swear he heard thunder. Percy felt the tightness in his throat grow. He had spent so long trying to find an explanation for what Luke had done. Not just the betrayal. Everything.
His lips. His hands tangled in his hair. The nights by the lake, talking about things that now felt distant, unreal.
He couldn't reconcile the boy who had promised him the world with the one who had tried to kill him at the Gateway Arch.
"I loved him, Annabeth."
The confession escaped before he could stop it. Annabeth lowered her gaze, and for a moment, her expression was unreadable.
"I know."
There was no mockery in her tone. Just sadness.
The campfire crackled fiercely as Percy let the first letter fall. He watched it curl in on itself, blacken at the edges, until the words written on it turned to ashes.
It shouldn’t hurt this much. Not after everything that had happened.
Luke had betrayed him in so many ways. First, with the dagger in his side. Then, with his cold stare on Kronos’s ship. But the worst had been the way Percy still remembered him before all of that.
The way he had trusted him.
The second letter fell into the flames.
"You're taking this too personally, Perce."
Grover sat beside him, watching the fire with the expression of someone who wasn’t sure what to say. Percy scoffed.
"Too personally? He tried to kill me."
"Yeah, but… he didn’t have it easy either."
Percy clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to remember the way Luke spoke about his childhood, the pain in his voice when he mentioned Hermes. He didn’t want to feel sorry for someone who had used him.
"I don’t care."
Grover sighed.
"If that were true, we wouldn’t be here."
Luke was there.
At the top of the Chrysler Building, the city stretching out beneath them like a kingdom that could be his. Percy felt adrenaline surge up his spine, his knuckles white around his sword. They weren’t alone—Kronos’s minions moved in the shadows—but in that moment, it was just the two of them.
Luke smiled, that easy smile Percy knew too well.
"You look good, Percy."
"Shut up."
The smile widened, as if his hostility was some private joke between them.
"You're still angry."
"Angry?" Percy laughed, a dry, empty sound. "You tried to kill me, Luke."
"It wasn’t personal."
Percy lunged without thinking. Their swords clashed in a flash of celestial bronze. Their bodies moved in a strange dance—each strike, each step, each pause. As if they still remembered how to move together.
As if they still remembered how to touch.
Luke disarmed him first.
Percy barely had time to react before his back hit the ground hard. Luke pressed the blade of his sword to his throat, his breathing ragged, his weight pinning him down.
"You don’t have to fight me," he whispered.
Percy spat to the side.
"That’s what you said when you kissed me the first time."
Luke blinked. It wasn’t easy to catch him off guard, but for a moment, something in his expression shifted. Not enough for Percy to read it, but it was there.
"You didn’t have to do this," Percy continued, his voice rough. "You didn’t have to choose him."
Luke didn’t answer.
And then, in the next second, the pressure was gone. Luke stepped back, letting his sword clatter against the concrete.
Percy pushed himself up, his breath still unsteady.
"Why?"
Luke looked at him, and for a moment, Percy saw the boy he had been. Not the traitor. Not Kronos’s general. Just Luke.
But it wasn’t enough.
"Go home, Percy," was all he said before turning away.
The letters were ashes.
Percy watched the last one disappear into the fire, the heat casting shadows over his face. There was nothing left to say.
Luke wasn’t coming back. No matter how much he wanted to hold onto the memory of who he had been, he couldn’t keep pretending.
He stood up, the bitter taste of goodbye lingering on his tongue.
Tomorrow, there would be another monster to fight, another prophecy to figure out. But tonight, at least, he could stop being the boy who had believed in Luke Castellan.
And for the first time, he would stop waiting for Luke to believe in him too.