Leaving Camp Half-Blood should have hurt more than it did.
That was the first thing that bothered me as I walked away from the pine tree boundary with my duffel slung over one shoulder and Riptide heavy in my pocket. For years, every time I left camp, there had always been some kind of pull in my chest, like an invisible thread tying me back to the place, no matter how frustrating or dangerous it could be.
Camp was home in the weirdest possible way, a collection of memories stitched together with monster attacks, campfires, training scars, and friendships built under the constant threat of dying before adulthood. But now, as the sound of the cabins faded behind me and the scent of strawberries became little more than a ghost in the air, all I felt was a strange hollowness gnawing at my ribs.
Not sadness.
Not exactly.
Just confusion, thick and heavy enough to settle into my bones.
I kept replaying the last few days in my head, trying to pinpoint the exact moment things had shifted. There had to be one, right? A moment where the scales tipped, and suddenly I was no longer Percy Jackson returning home, but Percy Jackson—the problem. It should have been obvious. Some missed conversation, some tiny crack in the foundation that widened while I was busy with college lectures and Roman schedules and pretending I could have a semi-normal future.
Instead, all I found was Ezra.
His smile.
His calm personality.
That polite, measured friendliness that somehow felt more threatening than an outright enemy ever could.
By the time I reached the edge of Long Island Sound, my frustration had curdled into something restless and sharp. Going straight home didn't feel right, not when my mind was still buzzing, and my chest felt like someone had stuffed it full of broken glass. So instead, I did what I usually did when my life was spiraling out of control.
I went to the water.
The ocean welcomed me the way it always had.
Cold waves lapped against my shoes as I stood at the shoreline, staring at the horizon while the sea hummed beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. There was comfort in it, something old and instinctive, as if no matter how much my life changed, the ocean would always know who I was. I crouched by the waterline and let my fingers skim the surface, feeling the familiar pulse of power respond almost immediately.
Vapor travel.
I still hated how weird it felt.
The ability was something I'd picked up almost by accident during my time at New Rome. A group of naiads and water sprites had spent weeks insisting that I was "far too attached to physical travel methods" and that a son of Poseidon should be able to move through water in more creative ways. At first, I thought they were messing with me. Then one of them vanished into a drifting cloud of mist rising from a fountain and reappeared thirty feet away, laughing at my expression.
A month later, after way too much practice and one extremely embarrassing incident involving a decorative fish pond, I could sort of do it.
Sort of.
I exhaled slowly and focused.
The ocean responded instantly, cool energy wrapping around my limbs as mist curled up from the water in pale ribbons. My body felt strange as the transformation began—not painful, just deeply unnatural, as if every molecule in me were remembering that it had once belonged to something older and less solid. My vision blurred as the world dissolved into streaks of silver and blue, and suddenly I was less a person and more a current riding invisible streams through the air.
Then suddenly—
Solid ground slammed back beneath my feet.
I stumbled hard against a marble pillar near the edge of New Rome, coughing water onto the stone pavement. At the same time, nearby legionnaires stared at me with varying levels of concern and amusement.
"Still terrible at landing, Jackson?" a familiar voice called.
I looked up to find Frank Zhang leaning against the nearby archway with his arms crossed, trying and failing to suppress a grin. Behind him, Hazel stood beside the fountain with Reyna while several silver-cloaked Hunters of Artemis lingered nearby beneath the evening lanterns.
And standing at the center of them all was Thalia Grace.
"Well," Thalia said dryly as she looked me over, "at least you didn't explode this time."
I pointed at her weakly while still coughing. "That happened one time."
"It happened three times," Hazel corrected gently.
Frank snorted. "One of them caught a bathhouse on fire somehow."
"It was steam!" I defended immediately. "That's different."
Reyna actually smiled faintly at that, which honestly surprised me because Reyna's smile was rarer than most magical artifacts. She stepped forward and clasped my forearm briefly in greeting before studying my face more carefully, and almost immediately her expression shifted into something more serious.
"You look exhausted," she said quietly.
That was the thing about Reyna. She noticed everything.
I forced a shrug. "Camp Half-Blood was… weird."
Thalia's joking expression faded instantly. "How weird?"
I didn't answer right away, and apparently that was enough for them.
The streets of New Rome glowed softly beneath the evening sky as we walked through the city together, passing restaurants, marketplaces, temples, and apartment buildings filled with demigods trying to live lives as close to normal as possible. Music drifted from open windows while children ran through the streets chasing one another with wooden swords, and for a moment, I found myself staring at all of it with this strange ache in my chest.
Because this place still felt alive.
It still felt warm.
Nobody here looked at me like I didn't belong.
Thalia walked beside me with her silver bow slung across her back while several Hunters trailed behind us, Roman recruits among them, judging by the purple accents worked into their silver cloaks. Hazel and Frank stayed close while Reyna listened quietly, letting me talk at my own pace without interrupting.
By the time we reached the central forum, I had told them almost everything.
The council.
The tension.
The way campers treated me.
Ezra Garcia.
Frank frowned deeply as we sat around one of the outdoor stone tables near the fountain. "That doesn't make sense," he muttered. "You're Percy Jackson. Camp Half-Blood practically worshipped you when we visited."
"That's the problem," I admitted. "It's like… they don't anymore."
Hazel leaned forward slightly, golden eyes thoughtful. "Tell me about this Ezra again."
I rubbed my face tiredly before answering. "Eighteen years old. New demigod. Apparently showed up a few months ago and suddenly became the most popular person at camp. Everyone acts like he's amazing at everything, but it's more than that. It's the way people follow him."
"Charmspeak?" one of the Hunters asked.
I shook my head immediately. "No. At least… I don't think so. Piper would've noticed."
Thalia rested her chin against her fist thoughtfully. "What's his godly parent?"
"That's the thing," I said slowly. "At first, he was unclaimed. Then suddenly everyone started acting like it didn't matter."
Reyna's eyes narrowed slightly. "That should matter a great deal."
"Exactly."
The conversation fell quiet for a moment as the sounds of New Rome carried around us. Somewhere nearby, a musician played guitar while laughter echoed through the streets. Still, despite the warmth of the city around us, a cold feeling had started settling deeper into my stomach the more I talked about Ezra aloud.
The more I explained to him, the less sense he made.
Frank broke the silence first. "Okay, so let's say something weird is going on. Why target you specifically?"
I looked away toward the fountain water. "Because I killed Kronos."
That immediately killed whatever remaining lighter atmosphere.
Thalia cursed quietly under her breath while Hazel's expression tightened with understanding. Reyna remained calm, but I could tell she was already thinking several steps ahead, like she always did during military discussions.
"You think this has Titan involvement," Reyna said carefully.
"I don't know," I admitted honestly. "But something about him feels wrong. Not evil exactly, just… off. Like he knows more than he should."
"And Camp just accepted him?" Thalia asked sharply.
I laughed bitterly. "Accepted him? They practically handed him my place."
Nobody spoke after that.
Not because they didn't know what to say, but because they knew how much that sentence hurt me.
Eventually, Hazel reached over and squeezed my wrist gently. "We believe you."
Simple words.
But after everything at Camp Half-Blood, hearing them almost hurt more than suspicion had.
Frank leaned back heavily in his chair. "For what it's worth, if something's wrong with this guy, we'll figure it out."
"The Hunters, too," Thalia added immediately. "Artemis doesn't trust sudden power. Neither do I."
One of the Roman Hunters nearby nodded sharply. "Anyone who shifts loyalty that quickly is dangerous."
Reyna looked directly at me then, her gaze steady and unwavering in that way that always reminded me why people naturally followed her. "You are not alone in this, Percy. Whatever happens, Camp Jupiter will not turn its back on you."
Something in my chest tightened painfully at that.
Because part of me had genuinely been afraid they would.
The evening stretched on after that, quieter and more comfortable despite the heavy conversation. We wandered through New Rome together while lantern light reflected off marble streets and warm summer air drifted through the city. Frank ended up dragging me into a ridiculous food-stall competition involving spicy noodles, while Hazel laughed at both of us suffering afterward. Thalia spent half the night insulting my vapor travel technique while secretly asking if I could teach her how it worked.
"You literally become mist," she said while we walked near the university district. "That's horrifying."
"It's worse than it sounds," I admitted.
"Can you spy on people with it?"
"Thalia."
"That's a yes."
Even Reyna relaxed enough to join the conversation more naturally as we walked, and for the first time since arriving at Camp Half-Blood, I actually felt like I could breathe again. Nobody here looked at me with suspicion. Nobody acted like I'd become inconvenient or outdated. They treated me like Percy—not a symbol, not a problem, not someone being quietly pushed aside.
Just Percy.
And maybe that was why leaving again hurt more than I expected.
By the time midnight approached, the streets of New Rome had grown quieter as lanterns flickered softly against marble buildings and cool wind drifted through the city. We stood together near the edge of the forum where the roads branched toward the barracks, the Hunters' encampment, and the university district.
"You sure you don't want to stay a few days?" Frank asked. "You look like you could use it."
Part of me wanted to say yes.
Gods, part of me really wanted to say yes.
But my mom was waiting back home in New York, and after everything that happened at camp, I suddenly missed her more than I could explain. I missed Paul's terrible jokes. I missed Estelle trying to climb me like I was a jungle gym every time I visited. I missed normal.
"I should head home," I said quietly.
Hazel hugged me first, and the warmth in the gesture nearly cracked something open inside me. "Be careful," she whispered.
Thalia punched my shoulder immediately afterward because, apparently, emotional vulnerability physically harmed her. "If this Ezra guy turns out evil, call me first before you stab him."
"That's concerning advice from a Hunter."
"I stand by it."
Frank clasped my arm while Reyna gave me one final steady look. "You have allies here," she said firmly. "Remember that."
I nodded slowly. "Thanks."
Then I stepped back toward the fountain, letting the nearby water rise into swirling streams around my body once more. Mist curled upward through the cool night air as vapor gathered at my feet.
Then I vanished into mist.
When I reformed near my apartment building in Manhattan, rain was falling lightly from the night sky.
I staggered against the alley wall, breathing hard, while city lights blurred around me through drifting mist. Vapor travels across long distances, always leaving my senses scrambled for a few seconds afterward, and for a moment, all I could hear was water—the rain, the pipes beneath the streets, the river in the distance, every current in the city calling faintly to me at once.
Then something cold slid down my spine.
Wrong.
The feeling hit so suddenly that I froze before even reaching the apartment entrance. My instincts screamed at me with the same sharp certainty I'd learned to trust on battlefields, the kind that usually came seconds before monsters attacked.
The apartment door upstairs was cracked open. Just a sliver—the barest fracture between door and frame where light shouldn't have bled through at this hour. My fingers twitched toward my pocket before conscious thought caught up, the familiar weight of Riptide's pen form pressing against my thigh like a second heartbeat. Rain slid down my neck in icy rivulets as I ascended the staircase, each creak of wood beneath my sneakers louder than Poseidon's wrath. The building held its breath. No hum of the television Mom always left on for background noise. No muffled laughter from Estelle's bedtime stories. Just silence—thick, cloying, wrong—filling my lungs like wet cement.
"Mom?" The word tasted like battery acid.
Only the dripping faucet answered.
My next breath came jagged, ribs squeezing too tight as I nudged the door wider with my elbow. The scent hit first—metallic and rancid, the butcher-shop reek of viscera left to bake—before my brain processed the crimson streaks painting the walls in abstract horror. My vision tunneled. The toppled bookshelf. The shattered picture frames underfoot. The way my sneakers made wet sucking sounds against hardwood, sticking slightly with each step toward the living room's heart where—
Where they—
My knees hit the ground hard enough to crack bones.
Sally Jackson lay curled around Paul's body like human armor, her blue sweater darkened to near-black with blood, one arm outstretched toward the hallway where Estelle's tiny rain boots stood neatly paired. Paul's fingers still gripped the baseball bat he'd swung—uselessly, fatally—at whatever nightmare had come calling. Between them, impossibly small, Estelle's dinosaur pajamas were soaked through, her stuffed triceratops crushed beneath her tiny chest as if she'd hugged it tight against the pain.
I didn't realize I was screaming until my throat tore raw.
The sound brought no relief. Only more horror as my gaze caught on golden hair splayed across the kitchen tiles—Annabeth, fallen mid-lunge with her dagger inches from her fingertips, her gray eyes frozen wide in eternal disbelief. A single tear glistened on her cheekbone. My hands shook as I gathered Estelle's body against my chest, her strawberry-scented curls damp with sweat and blood, still warm enough to pretend for half a heartbeat that this wasn't—couldn't be—
Then laughter slithered through the carnage.
Light.
Amused.
Ezra Garcia stepped from the hallway like an actor making his entrance, twirling Mom's favorite kitchen knife between his fingers. Not a hair out of place—golden curls artfully tousled, designer jeans spotless, the only blood on him a delicate splash across his cheekbone that might've been avant-garde makeup. His eyes gleamed when he caught my stare, lips quirking in that charming grin that had once convinced Camp Half-Blood he was counselor material.
"Perseus." He tsked, flicking the knife as it embedded inches from Annabeth's head. "If only you had come straight home, then maybe you could have saved your family. Though it is a pity that Annabeth decided to visit, and although I admit she is quite strong, she still can't do anything when her mind is blown."
My voice emerged guttural. "You bastard—"
"Oh, don't bother." Ezra waved a hand, and suddenly my tongue weighed a thousand pounds, my vocal cords seizing mid-syllable. "Let's skip to the grand reveal, shall we?" He crouched to tilt Estelle's lifeless face toward me with mocking gentleness. "Coeus sends his regards."
The name punched through my grief like a harpoon.
The Titan of Intellect. The schemer Annabeth had outmaneuvered during the war.
Ezra's grin turned feral. "Lord Kronos had such plans for Olympus, my father had such ideals to bring forth a far grander golden age. Then you and your clever little girlfriend ruined everything." He traced a finger down Estelle's cooling cheek. "So I spent months making you taste your own medicine. Whispering in ears. Turning friends to foes. Watching camp spit on their precious hero was delicious... until you ran away." His sigh dripped faux disappointment. "Really, Perseus? I had to escalate."
The mental blocks slammed down—months of ostracism, of whispers, of campers crossing themselves when I passed—all clicking into place like a nightmare puzzle.
Ezra chuckled at my expression. "Mind manipulation is such a boring term. I prefer... synaptic sculpting." He tapped his temple. "One tweak to the occipital lobe, and your family didn't even know what was happening as I had my fun murdering them. Poor Estelle just needed her amygdala overloaded until she—"
My fist connected before conscious thought.
The impact reverberated up my arm as Ezra's head snapped sideways, rage filled my body as I knew at that moment I would never be the same again.