#ialwbty

It’s colder than usual, but he barely feels it. Even if he did, he wouldn’t find it in himself to care.

Luke would follow him to the death, but he can admit Kronos is a cruel master. It varies in intensity depending on the day or the army’s performance or the direction of the wind; perhaps how the Titan Lord is able to keep such numbers. General awfulness doesn’t feel all that bad when the week before your buddy got turned to dust. 

Every day, though, it gets a little harder for Luke to breathe. When he’s out here, sometimes it’s better—sometimes it’s much, much worse. Today, it just is. 

There’s no escape from you for Luke, even on his better days. You make up whatever good remains in him, and most of his jagged edges formed after he lost you and got torn in two. 

You’re always around for Luke. You’re in the curve of tree branches, the early morning ocean mist, every kid in his command that looks at him with the genuine hope for a better future. You’re the voice of his conscience, the face of his biggest fear, the poker stoking his rage—the kindling that fuels it. 

It’s no wonder Luke ends out here more nights than not. It’s the only place his mind goes silent—when he stares out at your father’s domain, the closest and farthest from you he’s ever been. 

He stares out at your father’s domain and remembers he did nothing to save you. He’s a god with all the power in the world and he just let you die. 

When Luke looks over, he sees you leaning against the side of the railing, arms crossed and a serene expression on your face. Your sundress falls just above your knees, hair perfectly braided save for a few loose strands. 

The waves, quiet just moments ago, begin to grow angrier. Sea foam sprays against Luke’s face as it batters the side of the ship. 

“Hurricane,” he whispers. 

“Oh, the storm’s not that bad,” you say. “It’ll pass.”

Your hair blows in the wind. The ship rocks as waves crash into the hull, but you don’t stumble like Luke does. You smile. 

“Shouldn’t you have your sea legs by now?” 

“It’s not fair,” Luke says. “Every time you show up, you bring a storm.” 

“Not every time.” 

“Most times.” 

You tip a shoulder. “Who can blame me? It’s not like I got to use my powers much while I was alive.” 

Luke grimaces, and you give him a look. 

“Come on. I’m dead. I’m allowed to talk about it.” 

“It’s not that,” he says. “It’s just…” 

“I acknowledge I’m dead, you have to acknowledge I’m not real and you’re crazy?” 

He grimaces again. 

“Sorry.” 

“You’re right, though.” Luke rubs his thumb against the lacquered wood railing. “They all think I’m crazy.”

“You do see me every night.”

“That’s different.” 

“Is it?” 

“Yes.”

“How?”

“It’s you.”

You go silent. Luke shakes his head, looking up at the darkened sky. Cumulonimbus clouds hang like a threat above him. “I won’t be surprised if I have to crush a coup in the next few weeks.” 

“You’re important enough for a coup?” 

“I’m the leader of the Titan Lord’s army,” Luke says. “I’m the one he’s trusting to carry out his plan for

this world. A lot of monsters don’t like that.” 

“That’s politics,” you scoff. “This is war. Your voice is the only one that matters.” 

Luke looks at you more closely. By now, your sundress has started to stain with blood. Red spots spider across the fabric in the shape of claw marks. Your skin takes on the usual pallor. A stronger gust of wind blows your hair up for a moment, and he sees the anchor stud earrings he bought you on your fifteenth birthday. 

“I didn’t know you were so well versed,” he responds. 

“You’re the strongest person I know,” you say simply. “Never let them forget it.” 

You turn around and rest your arms on the railing, staring up at the night sky. Luke doesn’t look away. 

Your skin is sickly. Your fatal wound has fully materialized, leaving half your sundress in bloody tatters. You glow in the moonlight, wholly ethereal—like if he reached out and touched you, you’d be nothing more than mist. 

Kronos can give him everything in the world but you. 

The first flash of lightning hits, followed by a crack of thunder. Seconds later, rain starts beating against the deck. Luke already feels it soaking into his clothes. 

“Why does it always have to end like this?” he asks quietly. 

“That’s just the way our story goes,” you say. 

The sky opens up even further and Luke squeezes his eyes shut as he wipes water off his face. When he pulls his arm away, blinking away tears and rain, he’s alone. 

Luke stumbles back from the railing. He runs a shaky hand through his curls, dripping with rain. He gets that funny feeling in his chest again. Thunder rolls across the horizon once again. By now, he’s completely soaked through. 

You bring the storm with you, and then you leave him alone to deal with it. 

He takes a few more staggered steps back, then turns and makes for the inside. He wipes his face as dry as he can on the way, tries to piece himself back together into the leader everyone expects. 

At least when it rains, no one can tell. 

- 

Everything is too much when you wake up. 

Your eyes fight the whole time they’re opening, squinting each time the slightest glimpse of light makes it to your irises. Heavy boots pound against the floorboards and your skull with each step. One of those boots kicks at your side and you groan—it makes you realize your whole body aches with a dull, incessant pain. 

“Holy shit,” someone above you says. “She’s alive.” 

“Of course she’s alive,” another hisses. “She’s breathing.” 

“Well, dead things wash up on ships more commonly.” 

“Things don’t wash up on cruise ships,” a third one snaps. 

“I don’t know,” the first voice says. He sounds too young to be an adult. “The storm last night was so bad, I wouldn’t be surprised to see a whale here.” 

“If she washed up, why is she completely dry?” the second one questions. “How is she alive, more like? No one could survive a storm like that in the ocean.” 

“True,” the boy says. “She would’ve drowned ten times over.” 

Your eyes are finally able to open all the way, though you still squint from the sun. A teenage boy, a snake lady, and some… thing covered in spikes stand over you talking. It takes a second to understand what you’re seeing—but when it registered, you have to bite back a scream. They notice, and they all start talking at once. 

“What are you doing here?” the snake lady hisses. 

“Who are you?” the boy asks. 

“How did you not drown ten times over?” the spiky one questions. 

You blink up at them, then shoot to your feet and run. 

You nearly collapse after your first step, the dull ache in your body flaring to life. The strappy sandals and sundress you’re wearing don’t help either, but you push through it all. The teenager shouts “hey!” and you hear them make chase. You don’t know where the hell you are and you don’t know who the hell you are, but some innate sense inside you is screaming to get out. 

It’s hard to do that when your body is already screaming at you with every step to stop. Your heart beats like a jackhammer in your chest, especially when you look over your shoulder and see the trio gaining on you. 

You choose the wrong moment to vet the distance, though. Your foot catches on something, and you crash to the ground. 

Your head bangs against the lacquered flooring and your vision blurs with the impact. The boy grabs your arms, hauling you up to your knees. You catch sight of the rope looped around your ankle, and you bite back a curse. 

“Who are you people?” you demand. 

The snake lady holds the point of her spear to the hollow of your throat. “We asked you first.” 

“You’re the one attacking me,” you spit. “I think that warrants some answers.” 

“You’re the one that ran,” the boy says. “How are we supposed to take that?” 

“Like I want to know who you all are!” you exclaim. 

The snake lady rolls her eyes and looks at the spiky monster. “Go let him know we found another one.” 

“He said—” 

“I know what he said.”

“Fine,” he relents. “It’s your head.” 

The instant it’s just the two of you, you reel your head back into the teenager’s nose. He curses and his grip on you loosens, but the second you make to break for it again, you feel cold steel against your throat. 

The snake lady presses the sharp spear point into your skin, just enough to draw blood—just enough to freeze you in place. 

“One more time,” she hisses. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know.”

She pulls the spear from your throat to jab you in the chest with the wooden hilt. You groan and double over, and she lifts your chin with the metal spearhead. 

“Let’s try that again,” she says. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” you grind out again. “I woke up here. I don’t remember anything else.”

“Lies!” she yells. “You stink of Olympus. Are you a godling spy? A camp reject?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t know!”

“Be that way,” she snarls. “I’m sure Luke can make you squeal.”

That name gives you pause. It’s maybe the only thing that has actually registered in your mind rather than bouncing off. 

“Who?” 

“Our leader,” the boy says. He glares daggers at you over the hand he has cupping the broken nose you gave him. “I hope he pays it forward.”

By now, a loose crowd has gathered around you. It’s a mixture of monsters and humans, but it strikes you that all of the humans are teenagers or younger—and they’re all armed.

You have to get out of here.

The thought hits you wild and loud, and you start bucking like a bat out of hell. You have to get out of here—away from these monsters and teenagers with a cause strong enough to make them murderous. 

You have nothing in your head, not even your own name, but you fight like a natural. You bob and weave and throw a surprisingly strong left hook. You narrowly avoid a spear to your chest, but get rocked in the head when you pivot by a punch. You feel a ring slice through your eyebrow before you’re wrenched back at the arms once again. 

“What the hell is going on here?”

The voice is oddly familiar to your broken mind, but you don’t focus on it—you’re too busy fighting like a bat out of hell against your captors. Arms and legs thrashing in every possible direction, trying to break free from their hold.

A monster, sure it can subdue you, gets just a bit too close, and you slam your foot into its chest. It stumbles away groaning, but Broken Nose Boy strikes your skull with the pommel of his blade. Your legs give out beneath you as your head snaps to the side, knees just barely brushing the ground thanks to the tight grip Snake Lady and BNB have on your arms. Your strength wanes as you wheeze for air. The ship deck blurs beneath you, and you feel a drop of sweat trickle down your forehead. 

“We caught her sneaking around the ship,” the snake lady holding your right side hisses. Her sharp nails dig into your skin, enough to draw blood with the threat of more. 

“I’m getting real sick of mysterious demigods washing onboard,” the voice says. This must be the leader for them to stop when questioned. “Isn’t that what I have guards for? To ensure we travel in privacy?”

The monsters grumble something amongst yourself, and the man steps forward. You lift your head, vision still dim at the edges, and see that he’s not a man at all—he’s a teenager. He doesn’t notice he has your attention, still ranting at his monstrous militia. 

“Kronos gave me a mission, and I chose all of you to help me enact his plan. The Titan Lord does not accept failure—as his voice on this mortal plane, why should I?”

“We caught her,” the spiky thing from earlier growls, “didn’t we? She’s one of those camp freaks. You can use her to find out whatever they’re planning.” 

He rolls his eyes as he squats down to be at your level. He pinches your chin between his fingers and lifts your head, forcing you to look at him—but when you do, his dark eyes fill with a haunted recognition. 

They widen so much they could pop out of their sockets. What you can tell is normally tanned skin has paled. The scar running down the side of his face distorts with his shock, and his grip on your chin almost completely loosens.

He whispers your name in quiet disbelief. He looks at you like you’re a ghost. 

Broken Nose Boy’s grip slackens on your arm. “Luke, this is her?”

Luke. 

The name only barely registers in your shattered brain, but to him, the sight of you clearly means everything. 

How does he know your name when you’re barely even sure of it? How do you recognize his name when you don’t even know your own? 

You refuse to look away. You throw him off somehow, and in enemy territory, you have to use whatever is at your disposal. 

Silence stretches on long enough to become uncomfortable as you stare at each other—your gaze determined steel, his barely restrained mania. He breaks first, directing his attention at those holding you still.  

“Let her go,” he says, though there’s clearly still a haze over him. “We need to talk.”

Broken Nose Boy fully lets you go, but Snake Lady doesn’t. Luke’s eyes harden. 

“Let her go,” he snaps. “Unless you’d like to lose that head of yours?”

“She’s with them,” she bites. “Your softness is blinding you.”

You barely see Luke move, only the glint of a blade before you feel her grip loosen, then let go completely. You bite down hard on the scream that rises in your throat when you see the monster’s headless body fall to the ground, reptilian legs curling for just a moment before they freeze. 

“Does anyone else want to try anything?” Luke asks, voice scarily even. 

He gets no response. All you can do is stare at him. 

When Luke finally looks back at you, his eyes soften, and he falters for a moment as he says your name. 

He shoves his sword back into its sheath and offers his hand to you, but you can’t find the words. You hardly hear his own over the ringing in your ears. 

Luke clearly recognizes you, and you have a nagging feeling that you know him too—but no matter how far you run, the memory is just out of reach. You have no idea who this boy is, just that he’s someone dangerous. 

But he knows you. He’s already killed for you. The glint in his eye tells you he won’t hesitate to do it again.

You take his hand and he pulls you to your feet. He stares down at your intertwined hands and you see his throat bob. You feel his thundering pulse where your fingers brush his wrist. 

He pulls away before you can say anything. A muscle works in his jaw. 

“Come with me,” he says, and then he starts walking. 

You glance back at his soldiers. The boy looks terrified, and the snake woman who disobeyed Luke is nothing but yellow dust. 

You swallow bile and hurry to catch up.  

Luke moves with quick but disjointed strides. He had the easy confidence of a leader when he first approached you, but now he seems unsure, off-guard. You’re a bit slower than him, and you notice he adjusts his gait to keep pace with you. 

Oddly kind for someone that just killed one of his soldiers in cold blood. (Too observant for your liking.)

“That was quite the display,” you say. You hope he doesn’t catch the slight wobble in your words. 

“It’s insurance to make sure they leave you alone,” he says. “Most of them want to kill you.”

“I gathered that.” There’s still blood dripping down your arm from the snake lady’s claws, you’re going to have a black eye in an hour, and your eyebrow is fully sliced open. “But why? They don’t even know me.”

Luke scoffs. “What kind of question is that? You know why.”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking,” you retort. “I— I don’t know much of anything right now, if you can’t tell. I don’t even know who you are.”

You nearly bump into him when he suddenly stops in his tracks. He hides his disbelief this time, but his jaw is clenched so tight you think his teeth might crack. 

He’s so obviously searching for something when he looks at you, but you don’t know what. What he can’t hide is the glimmer in his eyes, the telltale sign of tears he’s trying so hard to fight. 

You don’t understand why it makes you feel so nauseous. 

“You don’t?” 

His voice is too fragile for what you just watched him do—to have the kind of scar cutting down the side of his face that no one earns through pacifism. 

You open your mouth and no words come out. Your chest twists with the sudden urge to comfort him. A memory flashes through your broken mind too quickly to pin down. 

“No,” you finally manage. “All I know is I woke up on this ship. The rest is just… darkness.”

Luke shakes his head with a mirthless laugh. He starts walking without warning, and it takes a few beats for you to catch up. 

“It’s a trick,” you hear him murmur beneath his breath. “It’s gotta be a trick.”

Eventually, you reach a room. Luke holds the door open for you, but you pause before you enter and meet his eyes. 

“Listen—”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he interrupts, and then he stops. His grip tightens on the door. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Of course I am,” you say faintly. “You just killed someone in front of me.”

“Monsters don’t die,” Luke says. “She’s regenerating in Tartarus as we speak.”

Your brows crease. He says it like you should know what it means. 

He shakes his head with a sigh. “Just go inside.”

You glance back at the empty hallway. You’re outside some kind of office, and you went down a few too many flights of stairs. 

You’re in no state to run. Even if someone can hear you scream, they won’t care. He just killed someone in front of you. 

(He just killed a monster to protect you, a voice in your head says. And his name is the only goddamn thing that registers in your brain.)

You walk inside. He closes the door behind you. 

It’s his office, you realize pretty quickly. He has pictures on the wall beside a desk with a big map and a boatload of files. Luke gestures at the loveseat awkwardly shoved in the corner, and both of you sit.

Your spine is ramrod straight. Luke acts like he’s casual—an arm lightly wrapped against the back of the couch, posture relaxed, legs crossed at the ankles—but it’s clearly just that: an act. 

“So you’re Luke,” you say. 

He flinches when you say his name, and your throat closes up. Luke tries once again to cover it up as he nods.

“I am. And you are?”

You glance away as you wrap your arms around your midsection. 

“I have no idea.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“No name?”

“No.”

“No age?”

“No.”

“No godl—”

“What part of ‘the rest is darkness do you not understand?” you interrupt. Luke falls silent. “I don’t know anything! I don’t know why I’m here, I don’t know who you are, I don’t even know my own name. I woke up on this ship cold and confused and alone, and since then I’ve been kicked and beaten and stabbed and sliced. I don’t even remember my own goddamn name—”

Your voice breaks on the last word, and it snaps you out of whatever trance you’d entered. You realize you’ve moved closer in said trance—you’re inches from Luke, so close you can smell his cologne. Another thing that feels oddly familiar; the lyrics of a song you learned as a child. 

“So are you going to help me?” you ask more than a little desperately. “Or are you just going to be one more person that tries to kill me?”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t waver. His pupils are blown, and he clenches his jaw hard to hold back whatever emotions want to break free. You put some distance between you and his throat bobs. 

“Yeah,” Luke finally says, his voice raspy. “Yeah. I can help you.”

Some of the tension in your shoulders finally dissolves, and his lips quirk at the edges ever so slightly. 

“But you’re bleeding all over the place,” he says. “Let me patch you up first.” 

“Can you help me while you’re patching me up?” 

“Patching you up is helping you.” 

You huff. “You know what I mean.” 

A bit more of a smile. “Yeah.” 

Luke gathers some medical supplies, and soon enough he’s cleaning out your arm. You wince every time the alcohol wipe touches the wound, but he works at a steady pace. 

“That’s a nice dress,” he eventually says. 

“Thanks. I woke up in it.” 

Luke shakes his head with a sigh. “That’s really what happened? You just woke up here with amnesia?” 

“I know it sounds crazy,” you say. “But just imagine how it feels.” 

He lets out a dry laugh. 

“You don’t even know the half of it.” 

He continues to work in silence for a while. Luke is good at this, too good for a teenager. You barely feel the needle as he sews up the lacerations. His touch is even soft as he wipes the dried blood off your arm. 

“How does that feel?” he asks. 

“Much better,” you say. “You’re good at this.”

“I have a lot of practice,” he says. “And a lot of it was this exact same scenario, believe it or not.”

“Stitching people up after monster attacks?”

“Stitching you up after monster attacks.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“Hold still,” he says instead. Before you can respond, he’s dabbing at the cut across your eyebrow, with one hand beneath your chin for balance. 

Your breath catches in your throat. You should tell him to let go, but his touch is so unexpectedly gentle that the words die on your tongue. 

For a split second, you’re not in the office. You’re sitting on the sink in a shitty rest stop bathroom, laughing through your grimaces as Luke stitches up a gnarly gash on your shoulder.

“Your jokes hurt more than your stitching.”

“Oh, please. My jokes have never made you bleed.”

“Yet.”

“You laughed at them!”

“Out of pity!”

“Then I guess I’m only stitching you up out of pity.”

“In your dreams, Castellan.”

“Every night.”

The memory is gone as soon as it appears—and that’s when you realize. 

A memory. 

You suddenly wrench out of Luke’s grasp and twist so you can see your shoulder. A jagged, slightly raised scar runs down your skin in the exact same place. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe.

“What?” 

Luke genuinely sounds concerned—when you look back at him, you see the same dark eyes as the fleeting memory. 

“I know you,” you rasp. “You— you know me.”

He pauses, clearly trying to figure out how to respond to that. He never breaks eye contact, even when he slowly nods. 

“Yes.”

“How?” you question. “Who are you? Who am I?”

“One thing at a time,” Luke says. 

“Fine. Who am I?”

He says the same name as before, and it settles more comfortably against your skin this time.

Your name. You repeat it in your head like a mantra—you have one piece of yourself, at least. 

“You’re like me,” he continues. “And we’re not like other people.”

Your eyebrows rise. “And what does that mean?”

“We’re halfbloods,” he says. “Half mortal, half god.”

You laugh, short and dry. “I don’t feel very godlike right now.”

“That’s par for the course, unfortunately.”

He doesn’t give any indication he’s joking, which makes you worry that he’s actually not joking. 

“You’re serious?”

Luke nods. “The Greek gods are real, and they’re our parents.”

“That makes no sense,” you insist. 

“You woke up on a cruise ship with amnesia surrounded by monsters,” he says. “You’re not really in a position to be doubting things.”

Unfortunately true. “Who’s your parent, then?”

“My dear old dad is Hermes, messenger of the gods.” He says it with simmering disdain. “He’s a big reason I’m here.”

“What’s that?”

Luke holds your gaze for a long moment before he finally speaks. 

“Justice.”

It sends shivers down your spine. Suddenly, you’re very cold in your sundress and sandals. You wish past you had worn something a little better before you decided to go on a cruise ship of monsters. 

Luke is shedding his jacket before you can even say anything. He holds it out to you.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“You’re cold.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to—”

“Please just take it, Hurricane.”

You frown, and Luke freezes. 

“Hurricane?”

He holds the jacket out further and you finally relent with a sigh. 

“It was your nickname when you were…” He stops and shakes his head. “It was my nickname for you.” 

“We were close enough for nicknames?” 

“You could say that.”

“Did I have one for you?” 

He nods. 

“...Are you gonna tell me?” 

Luke presses his lips together, then lets out a deep sigh. 

“Sometimes—”

Before he can get any further, there’s a knock on the door. The softness in his eyes sharpens immediately as he stands—he almost looks like an entirely different person by the time he cracks open the door. 

“I’m busy,” he snaps. 

“I understand, sir, but this is important. Something is wrong with the sarcophagus.” 

You see his grip tighten on the door. 

“What?” 

“Some of the tourists have been fainting when they go too close to your cabin,” he says. “I— I don’t know what it means, but one of the Laistrygonians said I should tell you.” 

Luke growls, and you think his fingers might actually dig into the wood he’s holding it so tightly. 

“Keep any mortals away from the floor,” he says. “I don’t know how much the Mist can hide when it comes to his presence.” 

“Of course.” 

He goes back into the room and starts gathering a few things, giving you a glimpse of the boy on the other side. When he spots you, his eyes widen. 

“Holy shit,” he blurts out. “You’re alive.” 

Hearing that once is a good thing. Hearing it twice is a bit concerning. 

“Don’t you have a job to do?” Luke snaps as he turns around.

“Yes, sir,” he stammers. “I— I’m sorry, sir.” 

“Don’t be sorry, go do it. And don’t tell anyone she’s here unless you want to go for a nice swim.” 

The boy nods far too many times. His eyes dart back at you one last hurried time before he turns and scurries off. 

Luke sighs and runs a hand through his curls, casually turning back to you like he didn’t just threaten to kill that boy for looking at you. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You didn’t need to see that.” 

“Do you make a habit out of threatening little kids?” you ask. 

“Only when I need to.” He doesn’t say it with the humor you expect—another thing to add to the growing list of concerns. Having a growing list of concerns should be added to it as well. 

“I need to be extra rough with them when it comes to you,” he explains. “They don’t think you’re on my side.” 

“What other side is there?” you ask. 

Luke has a habit of long, brooding silences around you, it turns out. You think he’s trying to work around your broken memory, and it makes you wonder what he’s hiding from you. 

“The side of the gods,” he finally settles on. “And considering they’re the reason for everything you went through, I don’t think we have anything to worry about.” 

That only creates a thousand more questions, but Luke is already halfway out the door. 

“Don’t go anywhere. These monsters are always hungry for demigod blood, and I can’t protect you if I’m not with you. I’ll bring some food for you on my way back.” 

“And some warmer clothes, please,” you add. “If you have them, I mean.” 

Luke nods, and he slings his backpack over his shoulder. He’s about to leave when you blurt something out:

“Why do these people seem so surprised that I’m alive?” 

His throat bobs when he stops, halfway out the door.

“I’ll explain it all to you soon,” he says. 

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

He doesn’t look away until you nod. 

“Okay,” you say faintly. “I’ll see you soon, then.” 

Luke nods. Seconds ago, he was the threatening image of authority. Now, you think a stiff breeze would make him keel over—or another question from you.

"See you soon," he murmurs.

You rifle through the files on his desk but don’t really get anywhere—each picture and person and name just falls on an empty mind. But the drawers are a different story, because they’re so cluttered you don’t know what to expect when you tug them open one by one.

The first one is just full of newspapers. You go through and see the New York Times, the Washington Post, Wall Street Journal, the Boston Globe, the Boston Herald, the Boston Sun—

There’s a surprising amount of newspapers from Boston, most of which have a sticky note on the front page with scribbled notes in cursive. You guess Luke likes to stay up to date on what’s going on around the country and Boston specifically.  

The second has a lot of odds and ends—the cap of a marker, scattered batteries, about twelve different fountain pens advertising different banks, a concerning number of zip ties—and the third has a necklace with a bunch of clay beads and a bunch of corny postcards from a summer camp.

And then you get to the middle drawer. 

There’s a metal letter opener, three more fountain pens—this time from different colleges—but the rest of the space is just filled with letters. 

Letters addressed to Luke from a writer that calls themselves Hurricane. 

The hand that picks the letter up doesn’t feel like yours. Lifeless eyes that don’t belong to you decipher the messy loops and swirls easier than you could understand printed words.

To the one and only Luke Castellan,

I’m so sorry I haven’t written to you in literally forever but I’ve been busy, because I got my permit!!!!

I know it’s not a surprise bc of last time, but it is definitely a relief. This is the most I’ve ever studied for anything, and my friends don’t get it because we take the T everywhere, and they don’t believe me when I say I want to be able to drive to go see my boyfriend. That’s right: they don’t believe you exist. Can you believe that? I can’t wait to introduce you to them and make them eat their words. 

You huff a laugh as you turn it to the other side, as a scribbled arrow directs you to. 

Anyways, I know that you can’t really leave camp, but maybe Chiron would make an exception for me. I am the child of the prophecy, after all. That’s gotta mean something. Say hi to everyone at camp for me btw, I miss them!!!

I miss you a lot more, though. School’s nice but I don’t feel like myself without you. The nightmares have been getting worse. Maybe ask Chiron about it for me? But casually. I don’t want him to worry. And I don’t want you to worry either, so please don’t. I even paperclipped a pic of me and Mom at the last Red Sox game to hang up on the wall and brighten up your cabin. I have your pics up on the wall around my vanity<3 

Love you and can’t wait to see you again:) 

Your hurricane forever

You flip back to the front, but there’s no paperclipped photo. You sigh and put it back down. Just because you can read the messiest handwriting in the world and the guy with the letter calls you by the name of the girl who wrote the letter doesn’t mean you’re the one that wrote it. 

There are a few more other letters, some so faded from constant reading and refolding they’re almost bisected. When you move the last one out of the way, though, you feel a distant wave of dread. 

Below the letters are pictures of a girl that looks just like you. She even has the scar on her shoulder in outfits where her arms are bare. You don’t get to chalk this up to coincidence anymore. 

This girl wrote the letters, and this girl is you. 

Solo polaroid shots, both of you on digital printouts, about seven photobooth reels, but always you—smiling, laughing, Luke kissing you. You kissing Luke. Some have dates on the back, some have places, most have nothing but pure adoration. 

There’s only one that doesn’t have you, and it’s of a younger Luke who has his arms wrapped around a girl dressed in a spiky leather jacket, and a child with curly blonde hair—on the back, hurried print scribbles out WHAT ANNABETH SAYS GOES. The blonde girl is absolutely beaming at the camera, Luke and the other girl are merely smiling—but it still says something considering Luke has barely smiled since you woke up here. 

You shake your head as you put it back down, hands hanging on the edge of the drawer. You have to take a couple of deep breaths to fend off the hysteria already creeping in. 

“What the fuck does this mean?” you mutter to yourself, staring down at the pile of photos. 

You know Luke, that much is clear enough. Or more accurately, he knows you. All you’ve got is a name, a scar, and the past that you didn’t have the good grace to remember. He’s kissing you, so he was— what, Luke was your boyfriend? 

It doesn’t make sense. Why would he be acting this strange around his girlfriend? No one in their right mind would be this way with their girlfriend if she couldn’t even remember her own name. 

Are you… God, are you here against your will? Did Luke force you? Did he kidnap you? 

That would make more sense for how you ended up here, because you don’t know why you would get on a monster cruise ship of your own volition. Luke has no problem with violence, clearly, and and he’s a little obsessed with you, clearly, and maybe you have no memory because he’s been drugging you or something—

You exhale sharply to get rid of those thoughts. Luke is too gentle with you to do something like that. Besides, he looked genuinely shocked to see you. 

Some of the tension in your shoulders unknots. That makes you feel better, but not by much. 

“Y’know, it’s not nice to go through other people’s things.” 

You jump so hard you flinch back into the desk, fingers gripping the wood behind you as you stare at your possible boyfriend captor. Luke’s expression is carefully measured as he sets down a duffle bag and a plastic water bottle, eyes never leaving yours. 

“Easy,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“What is this?” 

You reach back into the drawer and pull out one of the photobooth strips, and Luke huffs. Something changes in his eyes. 

“I should’ve guessed you would look around.” 

“What is this?” you repeat. You keep his attention with the photo as you blindly search for the letter opener, and you feel the sharp edge scrape against your palm when you slowly close your fingers around it. “Who are you, really?”

Luke edges forward and you whip the letter opener out in front of you. You press yourself as far back into the desk as you can manage. 

“Not another step,” you rasp. 

“Okay,” he says, holding up his calloused hands in placation. “I won’t.”

A beat passes with the two of you staring at each other. The tension is so thick you could cut it with your makeshift weapon. 

“Okay,” Luke repeats. “What do you want to know?” 

“I already asked,” you bite out. “Who are you? Is Luke even your name?” 

“Yes,” he says. “My name is Luke Castellan, son of May Castellan and the god Hermes.” 

You huff a miserable laugh and stare hopelessly up at the ceiling. “Why can’t you ever give me a straight answer?”

“Because nothing about our world is straight.” Luke says your name, and it feels more familiar coming from his lips than yours. “You're a daughter of Poseidon. One of the few human ones.” 

“What does that mean?”

“He’s one of the Big Three gods,” he says, “which is a whole other conversation. Poseidon is the god of many things, but the sea is his domain.” 

“So that’s how I didn’t drown ten times over,” you say. 

“You’re about the only person that could wash up on a cruise ship.” Luke cracks a smile. “The ocean probably dropped you on our deck itself.”

You don’t smile back. “I saw all the pictures.”

His smile tightens. “I figured.”

“How old are they?” 

“The most recent one was a few years ago,” he says. 

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why a few years ago?” you demand.

Your grip on the letter opener loosens as Luke sighs, his shoulders dropping. “Well, there’s one big reason.”

“Which is?” 

“I don’t know if you’re ready to hear it.”

You heave a weak laugh, your whole body moving with the effort. “Luke, what the hell does that mean?” 

“I can’t tell you too much at once,” Luke insists. “You’re going to remember eventually, but if you get an overload of information, you could get hurt.” 

“I don’t care.”

“You might never regain them. You might go catatonic and never wake up.” 

“I don’t care!” you shout, but your voice trembles so much you doubt it’s any kind of intimidating. “I have nothing, Luke— nothing! I’ve got fucking cobwebs in my brain, right next to your name! If we were that close, then you don’t get to hide my own life from me!”

Luke gives you the most pained look, like he’s physically fighting back tears. He falls down onto the couch, all the fight draining out of him, tired eyes never leaving yours. 

“You were my girlfriend.” 

It takes a second for the words to fully process. 

The happiest laughter you’ve ever heard rings in your ears. Golden flames from a mile-high campfire warm you from the inside out. Both pass too quickly to understand as you stagger back. The letter opener clatters against the floor. 

“The photos,” you breathe. “They’re real? That— that’s us?”

He nods. “You ran away from home a few months after I did. We ran into each other at an aquarium because I was too scared to leave home. I found you—”

“You saved me from a monster,” you whisper. Luke stares at you for a second before he nods. 

“Yeah. You remember what kind?” 

Your brows furrow, then your eyes dart back to his. “A harpy.” 

He nods again. “Any pain?” 

“No.”

“Good,” he says, and he cracks a smile. “You— you remembered a good one.”

“So we’ve been friends since we were kids?” 

“Best friends,” he corrects, clearing his throat. “After the aquarium, we decided to stick together. A few years later, we were separated and we both thought the other was dead.” 

“Was I?” you ask. 

“No,” Luke says, and he huffs a wry laugh.  “You fell off a cliff, but you fell into water. Your father saved you, and you found your way to safety. A few years later, we found each other again.” 

You remember the photostrip in your hand. “...That’s when.” 

“Yeah,” he says. 

“I had every intention of living a long and happy life with you, but the universe had other plans.” 

“A long and happy life?” you marvel. “How old were we?” 

“Fifteen,” he says with a slight laugh. “But I was crazy for you. I’ve loved you my whole life, even before I knew it. And you loved me, believe it or not.” 

Your sharp edges blunt at that. Your heart breaks for this poor boy, who has given his heart to a girl you don’t remember being. 

“That’s not me, Luke.” 

“It is,” he says. “I would recognize your voice anywhere. Your laugh is like church bells. A- and your smile, it’s enough to end an ice age.”

“Luke—” 

“You’re in all my dreams and all my nightmares,” he continues. “You’re the reason I’m here, why I’m still at this, why I’m still alive—” He cuts himself off with an incredulous laugh. “I mean, the fact that you’re here is a sign I’m on the right path. It has to be.” 

“Why do you act like I’ve been gone?” you question. “A— and more than one person has been surprised that I’m alive, which is concerning, and I still barely remember anything, which is even more concerning—”

“Because you died,” Luke says, with more force than you expect. You recoil.

“Is that some joke?” 

“Gods, I wish it was,” he says, bitterly sardonic. “I’d give anything for it to not happen.” 

“You’re serious,” you say uncomfortably. 

“You bled out in my arms.” There’s no emotion in it, the most painful overcorrection. “Be glad you don’t remember it.” 

You stare at Luke, still in disbelief. You don’t understand what he’s saying. He’s the one who said you’re the child of a god, and now he’s telling you that you came back from the dead? Your supposed, unintelligibly sanctimonious boyfriend? 

“...You still don’t believe me.” 

“How could I?” you rasp. 

Luke’s lips press into a thin smile as he undoes the top button on his shirt, revealing a sliver of his tanned chest. Then he hooks a finger underneath a thin gold chain and pulls out a necklace with a heart pendant. Your heart drops because you actually recognize it, which means you just saw it. 

You turn and sort through the photos as quickly as you can until you find what you’re looking for: a polaroid of the two of you laying down on a blanket wearing matching bright orange shirts. Both of you have your eyes closed with the most blissful expressions, and as your head rests on his lap, you wear the exact same gold heart necklace. 

“I paid a Hephaestus kid a few drachmas to make it as our one year anniversary gift,” Luke speaks up, and you don’t turn around because you can’t look away from the photo. He’s heartachingly gorgeous when he’s this happy, without the furrowed brows and angry frowns. 

You were this happy together. It feels more like fantasy than reality. 

“After… it happened, your mom told me to keep it. I don’t think I’ve taken it off since. And I keep this one in my wallet.” You hear him sigh. “It reminds me of what I’m fighting for.” 

You don’t want to turn around. You do anyway. 

Luke is still sitting on the loveseat, staring at a bite-sized photo, small enough to slip between credit cards and a driver’s license. It’s a full body shot in a line outside a movie theater, but your grin is too large to miss. Your hair is braided the way it was when you woke up earlier, and you’re wearing the same strappy sandals that you tripped over. 

Matter of fact, you look exactly the same as you do in that photo—sundress, braids, sandals, anchor stud earrings. 

“This was the day you died,” Luke manages to say. You hear distant ringing as you drop onto the couch, knees bumping together. One hand immediately ghosts over your back to keep you upright as the ringing grows louder. 

It flashes on the back of your eyelids when you blink, less than a millisecond—Luke kneeling over you, hands pressed against the gushing claw wounds in your chest as he pleads to any god that could possibly save you. 

Back in the real world, you see Luke’s lips move but no noise comes out of them, and when he wipes at damp spots on your cheeks, you realize you’re crying. Your hands are pressed over one another into your chest where you felt your lifeblood draining out by the gallon, but they only touch chill skin. 

“How?” you croak. 

Luke has a hand against your back, rubbing surprisingly soothing circles through your dress, but it falters at your question. 

“The gods,” he says bitterly. “Zeus, more specifically.” 

“Great,” you mumble. “Another god I upset?” 

“Technically, yes,” Luke says. “Long story short, Zeus, your dad Poseidon, and Hades swore off having children because a prophecy said one would destroy Olympus when they turned sixteen.”

Loopy cursive flashes in your mind. “And I was the child of the prophecy.” 

“...Yes,” Luke says carefully. “You were only a month from your sixteenth birthday. Your father protected you from the worst threats all your life, and you were strong enough to handle all the rest. Then Zeus stepped in.”

“You’re saying a god killed me?”

Luke stares ruefully at the ceiling. “He can’t do his own dirty work.” A beat passes, and his shoulders drop as he looks back at you. “We were out in town one day to go see a movie. I left to go pick up a gift I got for you, the Mist got you alone in an alleyway with a monster only one of the most famous heroes in world history has beaten…” Luke shakes his head, and he shoved the picture back in his wallet. “You know the rest.” 

You stare at Luke, and when he meets your eyes, they’re filled with such longing you have to look away. 

“Then how—” The inside of your mouth and throat are so dry you have to try again. “Then how am I here?”

“I don’t know,” Luke admits. “But I do know that you were killed over a petty grudge, and your father just let it happen.”

You blink away tears and shake your head rapidly, an almost deranged laugh coming out of you as your head drops.

“So— so- so what?” you question. “Is the amnesia just a side affect of coming back to life?” 

“We’ll figure it out,” he says. 

“If the gods killed me, did they bring me back?” You let out another weak laugh. “Am I just a chess piece for the worst parents in the world?”

“You won't ever be one again,” he says. The fire in his voice is shocking, but it matches the blaze beneath his skin. “However you ended up here, it was for a reason. It means I started this without you, but I’m going to finish it with you.”

Luke’s fingers brush yours, and when you don’t pull away, he lets them linger. This close, you see the bags beneath his eyes, the dull shine of his dark eyes that bring you the strangest sort of comfort as he leans a bit closer. You’re lost in the forest, adrift in an endless sea, floating aimlessly through space—but you’ve got the devil on your side, and he will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. 

“I have thought about you every single single day for the past five years,” Luke says quietly. “I don’t know why you were brought back, but I am not leaving you to deal with this alone.” 

“We’re going to get your memories back together.” You feel Luke take your hand fully but you can’t look away from his intense gaze. “And we’re going to get revenge on the ones that hurt you.” 

It should scare you. 

But the worst thing that could happen to you has already happened. What is there left to be scared of?

You don’t think this boy with an unyielding devotion to you is one of them. Not when he’s the only beacon guiding you through an ocean you can never drown in.

So you intertwine your fingers with Luke’s and bump your knee into his again. A jolt goes through you with the contact.

“You swear you won’t leave me alone,” you say faintly. 

Luke smiles, a small, soft thing meant only for the two of you. His dark eyes are almost black in the dim lighting. 

Because honestly, he didn’t really know what he was doing in Massachusetts. He tried staying in Connecticut after running away, but it still felt too close to home. He could still hear his mom yelling, could still see her glowing eyes. So he bought the cheapest bus ticket he could find to Boston, hoping a state in between would help. 

That was the second thing he’d learned while traveling on the road: everything was way too expensive. And for a kid with no job living off the allowance he’d saved up and some extra money he took out of his mom’s wallet, that wasn’t great. If Luke couldn’t get something dirt cheap, he stole it. His father may not have answered any of his prayers in the past few years, but at least he had naturally quick fingers. 

Luke sighed as he turned away from the fish, who was clearly not interested in striking up a conversation. He weaved his way through the crowd as he tried to think of where to go next—it wasn’t the smartest decision, but he was tempted to get a little whale plush from the gift stop—when he heard the middle of a conversation. 

“You made a mistake coming here, dearie.” 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as Luke froze in place. He couldn’t even murmur an apology to the people who bumped into him because the gears in his head were turning rapidly. 

“Let go of me—” a voice protested in response. 

“Quieting down would do you some good. Did your mother not teach you manners?”

He was still trying to see who it was when he finally found it. A middle-aged woman moved through the crowd with a girl around Luke’s age, her hand wrapped tightly around the girl’s arm. Her nails were more like claws, and she had a strange gait that she tried to cover up. That was when he knew. 

See, Luke had gotten used to distinguishing creeps from freaks with all his time on the road. Cutting a monster down would turn them into dust—normal humans would call the police. And if there was anything more dangerous for a runaway juvenile than monsters, it was the police. 

But if a monster had ignored every single person in this building to get to you, it meant he’d somehow stumbled his way into the path of another half-blood. And Luke wasn’t going to let another half-blood die right in front of him. 

So he took a deep breath, hoped the five second plan he made up in his head would work, and moved in.

“May, where have you been?” Luke tried to put on his best brother voice, and made himself as imposing as a nine year old could be. He didn’t focus at all on the monster, instead communicating to trust him as much as he could with his eyes. “Mom’s been worried sick!”

Both you and the woman turned to look at him, and Luke immediately knew he made the right choice from the blatant fear in your expression. 

“Sorry,” you said, letting your shoulders fall and your gaze drop to the ground. Luke tried not to let his relief show over you playing along. “I really wanted to look at the sea turtle—” 

“You should’ve said something instead of just wandering off,” he insisted. “We can all go look at it together—once Mom is done lecturing you, at least.” Luke took your hand and you let him pull you over to his side, positioning himself in front of you ever so slightly as he looked up at the woman. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her. I appreciate it.” 

“You should be more careful,” she said eerily. It felt as if she was staring right into his soul. “You never know the kind of things that are out there.” 

“I know,” he said, shaking his head. “Sisters, am I right?” 

As soon as they were out of hearing distance, he lowered his voice and tightened his grip on your hand. “Come on. Try and look casual.” 

“You know what she is,” you whispered.

“Yes,” he said, then he shook his head. “I— not exactly. But I know she’s a monster.”

“I knew it,” you muttered with vindication. Luke felt your eyes on him. “So you’re like me?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“One of your parents is—” You stopped, as if you still weren’t sure. 

Luke knew the feeling all too well—desperately trying to tell someone what he was only to be met with that look adults loved to give. You’re clearly talking nonsense, but I feel bad for you so I’ll humor you. And all the normal kids he’d tried to tell the truth to thought he was just playing a game. 

“A god,” he finished quietly. “Yeah.”

You started to look back, but Luke stopped you. 

“Don’t.” Their chances of getting attacked in a place so full of people was lower, but Luke had dealt with some particularly bold monsters. One able to disguise themself as a human would have an advantage—Luke learned people hated listening to kids, especially ones they could pass off as delusional. “You don’t want her to catch on.” 

“Who are you?” you asked. 

“My name’s Luke,” he said. “What about you?” 

You said your name, then you glanced at him. “You know a lot about all of this. More than me.” 

“Are you a runaway too?”

You nodded, and a part of his heart broke. You had no right to be out here, not when you were so young. 

And he says so, too. “You shouldn’t be out here on your own. It’s dangerous.” 

You frowned. “You’re out here on your own too.” 

“I’ve been on my own for a few months,” he said. “I know what to expect. How long have you been out?” 

You shrugged. “A week.” 

Luke let out a ragged sigh. “You’ve got bad luck if monsters are already coming after you.” 

“They already have,” you murmured, and you looked back at him. “How old are you if you’ve been doing this for months?” 

Luke frowned. “Nine. How old are you?” 

“I’m also nine,” you shot back. “So you can’t say anything to me.” 

He opened his mouth to retort—Luke hadn’t been a child in years, not since Hermes left him alone with a cursed mother and a burning rage inside of him that he couldn’t let go of, no matter how hard he tried. But if you chose to run away from home too, then you were in the same boat. Kids like you two didn’t get to be kids. 

“Fair,” he conceded. “But it’ll be a lot easier to give her the slip if we work together.”

“…I can deal with that.” You cleared your throat. “Thank you for saving me, though. I… I just froze.” 

“It happens more than you’d think,” Luke muttered. “We have to throw her off our trail, though. She’s not gonna be happy.” 

“She’s probably ecstatic,” you said, shaking your head. “She’s got two kids to eat instead of one.” 

“Aren’t you an optimist?” he remarked. 

You chuckled. “Sorry. It hasn’t been a great day.” 

“It’s fine.” Luke didn’t know the last great—god, even good—day he’d had, even before he ran away. Honestly, this conversation with you had been the highlight of this month. “But we can’t just leave. She has our scent, so she’ll be on us as soon as we’re on our own. It’ll be even easier out in the open. We’ve gotta set security on her trail to get her off ours.” 

You nodded as you turned another corner. “We should get to the gift shop. It’ll be less populated, but still enough to hide us.” 

Luke nodded. “Smart. And security’ll have an easy path there in case of shoplifters.” 

“So tell a sob story, get security, set them on her,” you said, looking at him. 

“Then get the hell out of here,” he agreed. 

“Think we can get a souvenir for the occasion?” you asked. “We’ve probably earned it with all this dodging.” 

Luke thought about that whale plushie again. “Maybe.” 

“The stairs are that way.” You gestured with your head, and Luke turned—he’d been going the completely wrong direction.

“Thanks,” he said. “You know this place?” 

“I’m from Boston,” you nodded. “And I’ve been here a lot with my mom.”

Luke figured he should have guessed by the accent. He didn’t know how long he was going to stay, but it would be useful to have someone with him who knew the city.

“You’re still pretty close to home,” he noted. 

You shrugged. “I’ve been doing all the things I’ve wanted to do now that I’m officially on my own. I know I’m gonna have to leave eventually, but…” you sighed and shook your head. “I guess I’m scared. Brave enough to run away but too scared to make it official.” 

Luke understood that more than you could know. It took him feeling like he was going to burst out of his skin before he got the strength to leave Connecticut. 

“You don’t wanna leave your mom,” he guessed. 

You nodded. “I love her more than anything, but I’ve already put her in too much danger. I’m leaving until I can figure out how to keep her safe.” 

You’re a kid, Luke wanted to say. It should be the other way around. But he’d already been hypocritical enough for today, and you’d probably say the same. 

“That’s sweet,” he said. “Stupid, but sweet.” 

“We’re both nine-year-old runaways,” you said. “You don’t get to tell me what’s stupid.” 

He chuckled and shook his head, letting the matter drop as you finally got to the gift shop. Luke had been stressed about how to strike a balance between cautious enough to keep your backs covered but confident enough to not be questioned, but it turned out talking with you was all he needed. 

On the way to the front, Luke caught sight of a whale plushie. His fingers itched to grab it, but he kept his eyes on the better prize of not dying and came to a stop at the cash register. 

“Hi,” Luke said, getting the attention of the employee at the front, hoping he sounded adequately fearful. “There’s a woman out there that tried to get my friend to go with her. Tall, middle-aged, dressed in grandmother-y clothes with glasses. She grabbed her arm and threatened her.” 

“You kids aren’t joking around, are you?” the cashier asked. 

“No,” you said, and Luke was shocked by how close to tears you sounded. “It was really scary— my parents were in the bathroom and I was waiting for them, and she just looked so nice, but—” somehow, a tear actually fell from your eye as you let out a sob— “but she tried to take me away.” 

The woman shook her head as she went back and grabbed a walkie talkie from below the register. The moment she turned away, you glanced at Luke and nodded, and he just stared in awe. She relayed Luke’s description then said a couple other things, then she crouched down to be on their level to look you straight-on. “Where are your parents?” 

“They’re in the bathroom on the second floor,” you provided. “We came here because we didn’t know where else to go.” 

She sighed, falling for every part of it. You were much better at garnering sympathy than Luke was. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I called our security— they’ll be here in a second to get a statement from you.” 

You nodded, sniffling a bit as your lip quivered. “Thank you. I— I just want my mom.” 

The employee put her hand to her heart, and when you went for a hug, she reciprocated. “Don’t cry. You’re gonna be safe, okay? I’ll wait with you until security gets here. One of our guards is already out there looking for her.”

“Okay,” you agreed. Luke caught your eye from behind her back, and you dropped your act in a second to smile knowingly at him. He just shook his head with a slight smile of his own—you were good at this. 

Eventually, two security guards arrived—Luke doubted they would be good for handling a shoplifter, much less a mythological monster—but they took yours and Luke’s statements, and were about to leave before you spoke up. 

“Our parents are definitely looking for us,” you said, already back on the verge of tears. “Can— can you take us to them? When they went to the bathroom, we were by the coral reef.” 

“‘Course.” One of them nodded and looked at his partner. “I’ll get them back to their parents—you look for the suspect.” 

After a short discussion, the three of you set out, you still holding Luke’s hand as he leaned closer to you. 

“On my signal,” he murmured. “We’re gonna blend into the crowd and get out of here.”

You nodded. You were so close to the exit, but you allowed the guard to take you up the stairs, and thankfully the crowd around the middle of the giant ocean tank was huge. Luke counted off quietly, and when he got to three, you split off, blending into a group of kids on a school field trip to get back to the stairs. 

You started moving at a much quicker pace, the exit within your sights, but just as they were about to make it, Luke spotted their monster. And now, she was definitely a monster—Luke couldn’t remember the name, but she’d shed her disguise, looking like some kind of bird-human hybrid thing. It didn’t really matter in his opinion, because she really looked like she wanted to kill the two of you. 

Luke cursed and grabbed your arm, immediately pulling you flat up against the wall with him. “She’s here.” 

“We told security about her,” you protested. “How hard could it be to find her?” 

“A bit harder when they’re gonna be seeing something different.” Luke glanced at you. “You said you’ve already dealt with monsters before.” 

You nodded. 

“Do you remember feeling like you were the only one who actually saw what was happening? Like you saw the monster for what it was while it was trying to kill you, and everyone was still freaking out, but not as much as they should have been?” 

You nodded again. 

“Well, that’s a thing. Normal people can’t see what monsters really look like—only we can.” Luke peeked his head around the corner again. “And if she’s shed her disguise, it means she wants to go in for the kill. And it means we’re completely on our own.” 

“We’re not on our own,” you said. “We’ve got each other.” 

Luke found himself smiling. It had been a while since that was true. It had been a while since he’d smiled. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “And it’s harder to kill two half-bloods than one.” 

He poked his head out again and immediately withdrew it, cursing under his breath as he stared up at the ceiling. “I never should have come to this city.”  

“Excuse me?” You stepped away from the wall as your brows furrowed. “Boston is the greatest city in the world.” 

“If you’re gonna be wrong, be wrong quietly,” Luke urged, gesturing with his head for you to get back. “And you are wrong, by the way.” 

“I’m not wrong.” You crossed your arms, refusing to budge. “Did you know that we have the first public park? And the first public school! And we have the T! Where are you even from?” 

“We can talk about this later,” he insisted. “We’re trying to hide. Have you ever hidden before?” 

“We don’t need to hide when you’ve insulted my Commonwealth’s honor,” you said. “Especially when you’re in our aquarium. Where are you from to be talking so badly about the Bay State?” 

“Connecticut,” he finally said, hoping that would get you to finally quiet down, but that only ramped you up further. “Place called Westport.”

“Connecticut?” you marveled, throwing your hands up. “You’re from some podunk town in Connecticut and you’re insulting Boston?” 

“Okay, Westport is not a podunk town—” Luke started, but he didn’t get the chance to finish defending his hometown before he caught sight of their monster—and she’d caught sight of them. 

Luke cursed even harder under his breath with words no nine year old should have known, then he grabbed your hand and pulled you along into a jog, interrupting your immediate protests. 

“She’s got us pinned,” he said, trying to keep his voice low enough to not be detected while making sure you could hear him. “Together, our scent is too strong. We’re not gonna be able to lose her—we’ve gotta kill her.”

“Could the fish help with her knowing where we are?” you asked as you started running with him. “Because they’ll be happy to help us. They don’t like her either.”

Luke did a double take. “What?”

“I can hear what they’re saying,” you said, as if it were completely normal. “It’s a little overwhelming with so many in one place, honestly.”

If they weren’t on the run from a monster, Luke would have worried a bit more about the fact that you were crazy. But he wasn’t awarded those kinds of luxuries these days. 

“We’ll—” Luke let out a sigh, because what did you mean that you could hear what fish were saying (especially because they clearly weren’t conversation prone)— “we’ll get out of here, and get the upper hand, and we’ll kill her. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded. “But Boston is still the greatest city in the world.” 

He huffed, taking his eyes off the path forward for a moment just to look at you. “Are you seriously still on this?” 

“Of course. We also have the greatest baseball team in the country.” You gestured with your free hand. “Do you see how many people here have Red Sox hats on?” 

Luke laughed out of pure shock. Was this the kind of stuff he’d been missing out on while traveling alone? 

“Listen,” he said. “If we get out of this alive, you can tell me all the Red Sox facts you want. But we actually have to work together through all this. Deal?” 

“Deal,” you said immediately. “You’re way more focused than I am.” 

Luke let out a loose breath and shook his head. “Well, I’ve had to be. Do you have a weapon?” 

“I took a kitchen knife before I left,” you said, “just to be safe. It’s worked pretty well.” 

“Do you know how to use it?” 

“I’m really good at chopping vegetables,” you said. “And I killed a monster with it the other day.” 

“Glowing reviews,” Luke chuckled. “I’m pretty good with my sword, so we should be okay.” 

“You’ve got a sword? How?” 

“...My dad left it for me before he left,” Luke said. “I guess he wanted to do one good thing for me in his life.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said. Luke offered a tight smile. 

“Doesn’t matter much anymore,” he said. “Soon as we get outside, we get to the street and get to some empty alley. We hide on either side, wait for her to find us, then take her down. Okay?” 

You nodded resolutely. “Let’s do it.”

The beginning of the plan wasn’t too difficult. Your faces would probably be plastered all over the place once the staff realized you were missing, but that was a problem for another day. You knew the area well so you took charge—and you took the time to spout random facts about the city on your way, of course, like a nine-year-old tour guide—and soon enough they were indeed in an empty alleyway. 

You and Luke stood on each side, weapons in your grasp now that you weren’t surrounded by a whole aquarium of people, and he watched as you stared straight ahead, trying to keep your breathing steady. Besides the whole hearing fish thing, you seemed pretty well-adjusted for where you were. 

But then again—you’d only been at this for a week, and the way you talked about your mom, your home life was the complete opposite of his. 

Luke shook his head. It didn’t matter what your life was like—you both ended up in the same place. 

His thoughts were mercifully ended when Luke heard sharp nails scratching against the brick of the alleyway. He grimaced, his grip tightening on his sword, and he looked over at you. Your eyes were slightly wide, but you nodded when he did. You were ready. 

“You two are clever,” the monster sang, her voice just as grating as her nails against the wall, “but I never miss a meal. And those measly workers just wouldn’t sate my appetite.” 

Her steps got closer and closer, and Luke held his breath. Right before she would be able to see you both, he yelled, “Now!” 

You were out first, immediately lashing at her with your knife. She took the cut against her shoulder and slashed at you in turn, but you dodged out of the way, giving Luke a chance to come in with his sword. But his angle was off, and she deflected the blow then sunk her claws into his arm. Luke cried out, landing a kick on her chest as he ripped himself out of her grasp, but her focus was already back on you. 

You stabbed at her with your knife and actually landed it in her chest, but it wasn’t Celestial bronze—all it did was make her angrier. She screeched and tackled you to the ground, knife still sticking out of her, claws poised to rip your throat out. You grit your teeth as you wrestled her arms away from you, but your strength was fading fast. 

Luke’s eyes widened and he grabbed his sword from the ground. He wouldn’t make it in time, but you could. 

He called out your name and threw his sword, and you didn’t even have to look to snatch it out of the air. Storms raged in your eyes as you stabbed the monster through the side.

“You shouldn’t have come here, dearie,” you spat. 

The monster’s scream dissolved with the wind as she exploded into dust, dousing you in yellow powder. The sword fell out of your grip as you coughed, and you just laid on the ground, drained.  

“Gross,” you grumbled. 

Luke wiped his hand across his forehead as he fought to catch his breath, ignoring the blood seeping down his arm. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you said between coughs. “I’m great.” 

Luke went over and offered his hand, and he pulled you up after you took it. “I’m so sorry. I guess I’m a little rusty.” 

“Neither of us are dead, are we? I’d say it went pretty well.” You grimaced as you wiped the powder off your face, groaning again. “This is gonna take forever to get off.” 

Luke chuckled as he took his backpack off and took out a towel, which you accepted gratefully. A demigod always had to be prepared. “You say you’ve only been on your own for a week?”

You nodded as you started cleaning your face and arms off. “Not my first monster, though.”

“It never is,” he murmured. Luke tipped his head back towards the sun and closed his eyes, letting out one final, long breath as the buzz from battle started to fade. And along with that, his adrenaline—the wound on his arm began to sting, and he sighed. He really didn’t feel like dealing with that. 

“You’re hurt,” you said, and Luke opened his eyes. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “They’re surface level.” 

You frowned. “Are you sure?” 

“I’ve stitched myself up a few times, and this doesn’t need them,” he said, his lip curling at the memory. He was not a very good doctor. “I have some first aid stuff in my bag—once we get out of here, I’ll fix it up.” 

“You said we,” you said. 

Luke blinked. “I did?” 

You nodded. “When we get out of here.” 

He blinked again. He didn’t even notice—didn’t even really think about where you would go after the monster was dead. It was kinda sad, but Luke was pretty sure he’d smiled and talked more in this one hour with you than the past few months on his own. He’d already started thinking of you and him as a collective. 

“What d’you think, then?” he asked. “You wanna stick together?” 

You frowned. “You’re willing to kick it with a girl you just met?”

He shrugged. “You fight well, obviously. And you’re way better at making people feel bad for you than I am. That’s useful when you’ve got nothing.”

“We’re kids on our own,” you said. “It’s not that hard to get pity points.”

“I’ve been told I’m… abrasive,” Luke said. “Besides, I like you already. You were arguing for your baseball team while running for your life. It’s annoying, but impressive.”

“People also say that about me,” you said sagely. Luke smiled and held out his hand more. 

“So? You wanna join forces?”

You stared at it for a while. “Even if I spend the next couple of hours telling you all about the Red Sox?”

Luke chuckled. “I did say you could if we got out of this alive. And I feel pretty alive.” 

It took you another second, but you nodded intently and shook his hand. “Then you’ve got yourself a deal, Luke.” 

“Glad to hear it,” he said, his smile widening. 

You handed him the towel and he went to put it back in his bag when he saw the… souvenir he’d taken before you left the gift shop. He grabbed the whale plushie that had been on his mind all day and held it out to you. “Here.”

You frowned. “When did you even have the time to get this? You definitely didn’t pay for it.”

“Idle hands are the devil’s playthings,” he said. “They won’t miss it. It’s a much better use marking the start of our friendship. Besides,” Luke shrugged, “you did say you wanted a souvenir.” 

You smiled as you took it. “Looks like we’re a trio, then.”

“Welcome to the team,” he said with a grin. “It’s a small one, but I think we’ll make it work.”

“Me too,” you nodded. “And it’ll be nice not being alone.”

Luke thought back to all the nights spent sleeping under bridges, commandeering benches, purposefully choosing overnight buses so he would have somewhere to rest. Constantly watching his back because he had no one else, wondering if each night he camped in the woods would be his last. 

He looked at you, a girl who ran away from home because she didn’t want to hurt her mom. Your clothes were covered in yellow monster dust, sweat dripped down your forehead, and Luke had nearly gotten you killed—but you were still smiling. And he found himself smiling too.