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The night before her fifteenth birthday should have felt important. Not in the “prophecy looming over her head like a guillotine” kind of way, which was very much a thing for other people; but in a quieter, almost normal way. If Annabeth’d had a normal life, there might have been cake, maybe balloons, definitely her dad forgetting the exact date and trying to make up for it with architecture books. Instead, Annabeth was crouched behind the camp’s northern boundary line at dusk, watching Connor and Travis Stoll argue in whispers over whether they’d get caught.
“We’re not going to get caught,” Travis insisted, adjusting the strap of the bag slung across his shoulder like he was preparing for a military operation instead of petty theft.
Connor snorted. “You say that every time.”
“And every time, I’m right.”
“You got turned into a ferret last time.”
“That was one time,” Travis snapped. “And it was for the experimental magic thing. Totally unrelated to the stealing.”
Annabeth pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we focus? We have exactly…” she checked the fading light. “…maybe forty minutes before curfew checks start tightening.”
Both of them looked at Annabeth. “Right,” Connor said. “Annabeth’s in charge. That’s reassuring.”
“That’s terrifying,” Travis corrected.
“Just move,” she muttered, already stepping past the invisible border, the faint tingle of magic brushing against her skin as she crossed. It wasn’t technically allowed. Sneaking out of camp never was. But the thing about rules was that they tended to bend under the right circumstances, and Annabeth had a feeling her fifteenth birthday qualified. Also, they needed supplies. And by “supplies,” the Stoll brothers meant beer. Annabeth told herself she was there to supervise. She was lying, but only a little.
The trip into the nearby town was uneventful in the way that usually meant something disastrous would happen later. They kept to the shadows, moving quickly, avoiding attention. The Stolls worked like a well-practiced machine: Connor distracting, Travis acquiring. And Annabeth had to admit that they were good. She didn’t steal. Not anymore, at least. That didn’t stop Connor from tossing a familiar grin as they ducked into an alley behind a convenience store. “You’re getting rusty, ABC.”
“I evolved,” Annabeth shot back. “You should try it sometime.”
“Evolution is overrated.”
“Coming from you, that tracks.”
Travis snickered, hauling out a crate from his bag like it weighted nothing. “But I remember when she was younger,” he said to Connor, like Annabeth wasn’t standing right there. “Fastest hands I’ve ever seen.”
She froze for a second. Connor’s grin widened. “Oh, I remember. That time with the—“
“Don’t,” Annabeth said flatly.
“—the camp store,” he continued anyway, because of course he did. “You climbed the back wall like a spider. Luke was—“
“Connor.”
He stopped. Not because of her tone (though it probably helped), but because something in the air shifted. The name hung there, unspoken now, but louder for it. Travis cleared his throat. “Anyway,” he said briskly, slamming the bag shut. “Mission accomplished.”
Annabeth nodded once, sharper than she intended. “Let’s go.”
They didn’t talk about it again.
By the time they made it back to camp, the sky had deepened into that rich, dark blue that came right before full night. Torches flickered to life along the paths, and the smell of smoke drifted from the amphitheatre. The bonfire was already going. Word travelled fast at camp, faster than Iris-messages or Hermes kids on a sugar rush, and apparently Annabeth’s birthday had become an event. She should’ve been annoyed. Instead, as they stepped into the amphitheatre and the noise hit her, Annabeth felt something loosen in her chest.
“Annabeth!” someone called.
Then another voice. “Hey, birthday girl!”
And another. “Fifteen, huh? You’re ancient now!”
Annabeth rolled her eyes automatically, but she couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her mouth. The bonfire blazed high, sparks spiralling into the night sky. Campers were everywhere: clustered in groups, sitting on logs, sprawled on the ground. Someone had dragged out music (badly played, but enthusiastic) and a circle had already formed near the fire where people were dancing with varying degrees of coordination. Connor and Travis vanished almost immediately, distributing their “supplies” with the efficiency of seasoned criminals. Annabeth didn’t have time to track them, people kept coming up to her. Clapping her on the shoulder, pulling her into quick, awkward hugs, offering drinks, saying her name.
“You made it to fifteen,” one of the Apollo kids said, like it was an achievement.
“Barely,” Annabeth replied.
He laughed. “Still counts.”
More voices, more faces. And it hit her, gradually, between one conversation and the next, that this wasn’t just a party. It was… hers. Not in the obvious sense, not because it was her birthday, but because of the way people looked at her. Annabeth belonged here. She was part of camp, the same way the cabins were, or the climbing wall, or its stupid lava rock that never cooled down properly. Camp Half-Blood wasn’t Percy’s, it was hers, and maybe that sounds a little mean, but it was true.
“Annabeth.”
She turned. Percy stood a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with them. He looked…normal. Which, for him, was impressive.
“That’s me,” Annabeth said stupidly.
“Right.” He paused. “Happy birthday.”
“It’s not until tomorrow.”
“Close enough.”
She huffed a quiet laugh. “Thanks”
For a second, neither of them said anything. Then he gestured vaguely toward the crowd. “This is…a lot.”
“Your fault,” Annabeth said. “You attract chaos.”
“Pretty sure this one’s on you.”
“Please. I’m organized chaos.”
“Is that better?”
“Significantly.”
He smiled, that crooked, slightly ridiculous smile that made it very difficult to stay annoyed at him for extended periods of time. Before she could say anything else, a blur of pink and gold crashed into her side.
“Annabeth!”
Silena Beauregard looked like she’s stepped out of a completely different reality, one where there were actual parties here and not just bonfires with questionable music and stolen beer. Her dress caught the firelight, shimmering with every movement, her dark hair perfectly arranged in a way that somehow still looked effortless.
“You’re late,” she accused.
“I live here.”
“Details.” She grabbed Annabeth’s hand. “You’re dancing.”
“I don’t think I am.”
“You are tonight.”
“I really don’t—“
Too late. Silena was already dragging her toward the fire.
“Silena…”
“No excuses,” she said firmly. “It’s your birthday. You’re required to have fun.”
“I am having fun.”
“You’re just standing around awkwardly with Percy,” she shot back. “That doesn’t count.”
Annabeth opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. Because Silena was smiling at her, and somewhere along the line since Annabeth’s return from the labyrinth they’d become…close. Not in the dramatic, life-or-death way most of her relationships seemed to develop, just consistent and easy friendship. Silena tugged her into the circle, and the music swelled. “Relax,” she said, spinning once for emphasis. “No one cares if you’re bad at it.”
“I’m not bad,” Annabeth protested.
“Prove it.”
The party carried on, and at some point, someone started telling stories. Which was always a mistake, because the Stoll brothers were involved. “And then,” Connor was saying loudly, standing on a log like he was addressing an audience, “she just vanishes. Completely gone. Mr. D’s looking around, panicking, and meanwhile—“
“I was ten,” Annabeth cut in.
“—she’s already on the roof,” Travis continued, ignoring her. “Loot secured, clean getaway.”
“Barely clean,” Connor added. “You almost fell.”
“I did not almost fall.”
“You slipped.”
“I adjusted my footing.”
“Same thing.”
“It’s not.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Annabeth crossed her arms, trying (and failing) to look annoyed.
“She was terrifying,” Travis concluded. “Tiny, but terrifying.”
“Still is,” someone muttered.
More laughter. Annabeth rolled her eyes, but there was something warm under the embarrassment, even with the unspoken parts. Even with the name they were purposefully leaving out of the story. The fire crackled, sparks rising into the dark, and for a little while everything felt steady. Like the world wasn’t about to tilt into something worse. Across the clearing, Annabeth caught sight of Chiron. He stood near the edge of the light, arms folded. He wasn’t intervening, wasn’t stopping the drinking or the noise or the very obvious breaking of at least a dozen camp rules. Maybe it was favouritism, who cares?
The party didn’t end, it just thinned out. One minute the amphitheatre was loud, bright with firelight and laughter and the kind of reckless energy that only came from pretending the future didn’t exist. The next, people started peeling away: a yawn here, someone collapsing onto the grass there. The music faltering into something unrecognizable before stopping altogether. Annabeth didn’t notice when it shifted. Silena was still holding her hand—had been, on and off, ever since she’d dragged her into dancing—and Annabeth was still pretending she knew what she was doing (which she didn’t), but apparently confidence counted for something.
Then, Silena’s grip changed. Annabeth glanced at her. “You okay?”
Silena smiled, but it was wrong. Annabeth had spent enough time around her to recognize the difference between her real smiles and the kind she used when something underneath was cracking.
“I need to get out of here,” she said lightly. Which, considering they were already outside, didn’t take much sense. Still, Annabeth nodded.
“Yeah,” she said. “Okay.”
They slipped out without much trouble. Nobody really noticed, or if they did, they didn’t care enough to comment. The noise faded behind them as they moved toward the edge of the woods, the firelight shrinking until it was just a flicker through the trees. The air felt cooler away from the crowd, quieter, like the world had decided to take a breath. Silena didn’t stop walking until they reached the creek, then she let go of Annabeth’s hand like it had burned her. For a second, she just stood there, staring at the water. “I hate this,” she said.
Annabeth leaned against a nearby tree, crossing her arms. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
She let out a soft, humourless laugh. “Everything.” That narrowed it down to…everything.
“War?”
“Yes.” She hesitated. “No. Not just that.”
Silena started pacing, her movements sharp and restless, like she couldn’t stay still long enough to hold onto a single thought. “I can’t keep pretending,” she said. “I can’t keep acting like I know what I’m doing when I don’t.”
“You don’t have to be fine,” Annabeth said.
“That’s easy for you to say.”
It wasn’t, actually, but she let that go. Silena pressed her hands to her face, dragging them down slowly. “What if I mess up?” she asked, voice quieter now. “What if I already have?”
Something about the way she said it made Annabeth’s stomach twist. “Silena…”
“I mean it,” she said quickly, dropping her hands. Her eyes found grey ones, and there was something raw in the blue ones. “What if I’ve already done something I can’t fix?”
Annabeth straightened a little. “Did you?”
“I don’t know,” she said, which was worse than a yes.
A beat passed. And then she broke, not very gracefully. It hit her all at once, shaking through her like something had finally snapped. Annabeth didn’t think about it, she stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. For a second, she went rigid, then she clung to Annabeth, fingers gripping the back of her shirt like she needed something solid to hold onto. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired and drunk,” she choked out.
“Yeah,” Annabeth murmured, even though she wasn’t sure if that was all there was to it. She rested her chin lightly against Silena’s head, staring out into the dark trees. And then, annoyingly, her own vision blurred and she tightened her grip. She wasn’t planning on crying in the woods, on the eve of her fifteenth birthday, but the tears came anyway. For how Luke’s memory lingered in all the stories, for how a war was looming, for how her relationship with her best friend was a big mess, for a deadline that would be crossed soon.
They stayed like that for a while. By the time they got back, the fire had burned low. A few campers were still scattered around, half-asleep or too stubborn to admit the night was over. Connor raised a hand weakly as they passed. “Success,” he mumbled.
“Debatable,” Annabeth said.
He gave her a thumbs-up anyway, then promptly fell sideways onto the grass.
Chiron was still standing at the edge of the clearing, watching. He didn’t say anything about the empty bottles or anything else, he just met Annabeth’s eyes. “Annabeth, child,” he said quietly.
“Chiron.”
“Happy birthday,” he added.
Turns out it was past midnight already, then. “Thank you.”
He inclined his head slightly, like there was something else he’d intended to say, but he turned his attention back to the dwindling fire.
The next morning was, objectively, terrible. Annabeth woke up with the distinct sensation that her head had been used as a percussion instrument by the Ares cabin. Repeatedly. Sunlight stabbed through the window with a seemingly personal vendetta, and every movement made the world tilt in a way that felt deeply unnecessary.
“Great,” she muttered into her pillow. Fifteen was already going well.
It took significantly more effort than it should have to get up, get dressed, and make it to the dining pavilion without walking into something. Camp was already in full swing. Rude. She grabbed a plate mostly out of habit and scanned the tables. People noticed her: there were a few smiles, and a couple of “Happy birthday!” calls that felt approximately three times louder than they should have. Annabeth acknowledged them with minimal effort, and then made a decision that was against the rules. She walked past her cabin table, straight to Percy’s. He looked up as she dropped onto the bench across from him. There was a pause. Not just from him, but from the surrounding tables. Annabeth ignored it.
“Morning,” Percy said.
“Define ‘morning,’” Annabeth muttered.
He studied her for a second, then winced slightly. “You look…wow.”
“Careful.”
“No, I mean it. That’s impressive.”
“I’m so glad you’re concerned.”
He slid a cup toward her. “Drink this.”
“What is it?”
“Poison,” he deadpanned.
Annabeth narrowed her eyes, then took it anyway. Across the pavilion, she could still feel the stares. Percy leaned back slightly, glancing around before lowering his voice. “So…last night.”
Annabeth braced herself. “What about it?”
He hesitated, which was never a good sign. “You—uh—you had fun?”
She stared at him. “Silena coerced me into dancing.”
“You didn’t look coerced.”
“I was under the influence.”
“That explains…a lot, actually.”
Annabeth closed her eyes briefly. “Do you have a point?”
He scratched the back of his neck, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “It was just…weird.”
“Why?”
“You were having fun,” he said, like that was the confusing part.
She opened one eye. “I do that occasionally.”
“Not like that.”
Annabeth sighed. “Add it to your list of things you don’t understand about me.”
“It’s a long list.”
“I’m aware.”
A beat passed. Then, quieter, “You okay?”
“Ask me later.” Annabeth took another sip of whatever Percy had given her and ignored the pounding in her head.
Percy watched her take another sip of whatever he’d handed her like he was waiting for a verdict. “Well?” he asked.
She paused, considering. “I don’t feel worse,” she said finally. “Which, given the circumstances, is a glowing review.”
“I’ll take it.”
A moment passed. The noise of the pavilion pressed in, too alive for the state Annabeth’s brain was currently in. Percy glanced around again, then leaned forward slightly. “So…don’t take this the wrong way.”
“That’s always a promising start.”
“You look like you’re about five seconds away from stabbing someone with a fork.”
“I’m don’t have the energy for that.”
“Right. Well.” He hesitated. “You could…not be here.”
Annabeth blinked at him. “Are you asking me to leave?”
“No! I mean—“ He gestured vaguely toward the rest of camp. “Skip training, activities… Take the day.”
She sighed, rubbing her temple. “Chiron will notice.”
“Chiron already wished you a happy birthday,” Percy said. “Pretty sure that comes with temporary immunity.”
That was not how camp rules worked. But whatever.
“We can go to the beach?” Percy said.
Annabeth hesitated. The beach was quiet. The ocean was Percy’s element, not hers, but still…
“Fine,” she said. “If I collapse, it’s your fault.”
The beach was mostly empty. A few campers lingered near the far edge, but for the most part it was just them, the stretch of sand, and the ocean rolling in steady, rhythmic waves. It was quieter than the rest of camp, and definitely more manageable. Annabeth kicked off her shoes and let her feet sink into the sand, exhaling slowly.
“Better?” Percy asked.
“Marginally.” She glanced at the water. “You planned this.”
“Planned is a strong word.”
“You thought about it for at least five seconds.”
“That’s generous.”
Annabeth huffed a quiet laugh. For a moment, they just stood there. Then, Percy said, “you’re going to go in, right?”
She looked at him. “Eventually.”
“You’re stalling.”
Annabeth rolled her eyes and reached for the hem of her shirt. She pulled it off, then her shorts, leaving her in a black bikini she’d grabbed that morning after breakfast without much thought. Now, though, she was overanalysing everything about herself in it. Percy turned to look at her, and the immediately looked like he regretted having eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in the horizon. “You look—uh—ready to swim now.”
Annabeth shook her head and walked past him toward the water, ignoring the way the cool waves lapped at her feet before rising higher. “Are you coming or just standing there being useless?” she called over her shoulder.
“I’m coming,” he said, jogging after her.
The water was cold. Not unbearably so, but enough to jolt Annabeth full awake. She waded in until it reached her waist, then dove forward, letting the ocean close over her head. She surfaced a moment later, pushing her hair back as Percy appeared nearby like he belonged there (which, annoyingly, he did).
“Show-off,” Annabeth muttered.
“Jealous?”
“Of your unholy relationship with water? Not particularly.”
He grinned. They swam for a while, talking about nothing important. Threw water at each other like they were ten instead of fifteen and fourteen, and carrying the weight of a war. They drifted closer to each other, and to the shore, eventually. Annabeth watched the waves for a moment, then said, “You’ve been acting weird.”
Percy blinked. “I have not.”
“You’re avoiding things,” she said flatly. “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Wait,” Annabeth snapped. “For something to happen instead of actually doing anything.”
He frowned. “That’s not fair.”
“You know what’s not fair?” she said, frustration rising too fast. “Having to put up with you never taking any kind of initiative.”
“With what?”
“With anything!” Annabeth threw her hands up.
The waves crashed behind them, louder now. “I thought we were fine today, Annabeth,” he said.
Her frustration kept getting sharper. “Well, maybe I got tired of feeling like whatever I do isn’t enough!”
“What are you even talking about?”
“I shouldn’t have to explain it to you!”
They stood there, both breathing a little too hard. The Annabeth laughed, short and bitter. “Happy birthday to me, I guess,” she muttered.
Percy flinched. She turned away before she could say something worse and stalked back toward the shore, grabbing her towel without looking at him.
“Annabeth.”
“Don’t,” she said.
He didn’t follow, because of course he didn’t.
By the time Annabeth made her way back to the cabins, she’d convinced herself she was fine. Which was impressive, considering she very clearly wasn’t.
“Wow,” Clarisse’s voice cut as Annabeth passed. “You look like you lost a fight.”
“I didn’t lose,” she muttered.
Clarisse fell into step beside her anyway, like she hadn’t just insulted her. “Birthday’s going great, huh?” she added.
“Fantastic. Highly recommend.”
Before Annabeth could argue, Clarisse steered her toward the Aphrodite cabin. Silena looked up as they entered, her expression shifting immediately when she saw Annabeth. “Oh,” she said softly. “That bad?”
Annabeth hesitated. Then, because apparently today was a day for poor emotional decisions, she nodded.
“Sit,” Silena said, already moving toward her.
Clarisse hovered awkwardly near the door like she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d ended up here, even though she was the one who brought her. Eventually, she moved and sat down on a bunk. Silena guided Annabeth into a chair and started pulling brushes and a hair drier from somewhere seemingly invisible.
“What are you doing?” Annabeth asked.
“Fixing it,” she said simply.
“My life?”
“You hair,” she corrected. “We’ll get to the rest.”
Clarisse snorted. Annabeth rolled her eyes but didn’t move as Silena worked, her movements careful and grounding.
“So,” Silena said lightly, “what did he do?”
“Existed.”
“That tracks,” Clarisse said.
Silena hid a small smile. “Boys are idiots.”
“Especially Percy,” Clarisse added.
“Hey!”
“You’re the one complaining.”
Silena’s hands stilled briefly, then resumed. She cleared her throat. “Do we have any news on Rachel?”
Clarisse scoffed. “I don’t trust anyone who paints for fun.”
Annabeth huffed a laugh. “She’s not that bad, but…”
“She looks at Percy in a certain way,” Silena said. “I don’t like that.”
“Calypso probably did, too,” Clarisse added, very unhelpfully.
Annabeth froze slightly. “Right. Her.” She stared at the floor. “Well, she’s not here.”
“Still counts,” Clarisse said.
“It does,” Silena agreed quietly. “I don’t see you going on any mysterious trips with men.”
Silena finished perfecting the, now dry, blond curls. “There,” she said. “Better.”
Annabeth nodded, even though she hadn’t really even looked in the mirror. Clarisse nudged her shoulder. “Come on,” she said. “We’re not letting you spend your birthday sulking.”
“I’m not sulking.”
“You’re absolutely sulking.”
Silena smiled faintly. “She is.”
Annabeth sighed. “Fine.” One moment she was fine (or pretending to be), and the next her throat tightened and her vision blurred.
“Annabeth?” Silena said.
Annabeth shook her head, trying to push it down, but it didn’t work. The tears came anyway. Again. Because apparently once you started crying with Silena Beauregard, your brain decided that was the default response now. “This is stupid,” she muttered, swiping at her face.
“It’s not,” Silena said softly.
Clarisse looked away, giving Annabeth just enough space without leaving. Silena, however, stepped closer. “I’ve got you,” she said quietly.