Some nights Annabeth woke up, crying out and shaking. Percy was there, every time. He leaned over her bunk and held her hand and stroked her hair.

Aware that her cabin mates were watching with concern, Annabeth buried her tear-glazed face in her pillow and tried to pull herself together.

You can't fall apart, she reminded herself. People look to you.

During the day Percy respected her space, but she noticed that he stuck close whenever possible, gravitating slightly closer whenever someone approached.

She remembered that he was fighting his own nightmares, though he didn't like attention drawn to them. Unlike her, he had no half-siblings who could run and get someone to help him through his dreams.

At times she remembered his rage. The way he'd slashed through Arachne before Annabeth had even properly realized she was there.

She'd seen that glint in his eyes for a second, and then it was gone as Percy capped his pen and commented that the spider had deserved worse for what she had done.

Annabeth had let it go.

Was it her imagination, or… did she still see that glint on occasion?

A first-year camper had spoken unexpectedly the other day, standing behind him — she'd grabbed his arm as he gripped his pen — felt the muscles relax as he recognized what had happened — seen the troubled look on his face as he turned away from the startled camper —

She watched him train, and at times she thought she saw a shadow of that glint. She always looked away.

They fought as a team sometimes during the training and games held at camp, but they no longer sparred each other. Annabeth had felt some echo of a strange fear in her stomach the last time — what was it from? She rubbed her forehead, looking absently into space as her cabin mates climbed into their bunks and turned out the lights. What couldn't she remember? When had she ever been afraid of Percy?

Annabeth snapped her laptop shut and laid straight back on her bunk. She wondered at the feeling of warning in the corner of her brain as she drifted off. Her fingers curled around the piece of red coral that hung from her camp necklace.

The air was humid and foul-smelling. The light was weak and Annabeth strained to see. Wispy white mist swirled around her. She stood near a cliff, above an expanse of inky blackness like something she'd seen only once before.

Annabeth turned away from it. Her insides immediately clenched.

She was looking at Percy's corpse. Folds of drakon skin hung from his skeletal frame. Colorful liquid rushed away from him at his will, little waves lapping at the ground around a terrified goddess with clawed cheeks and leathery skin. Akhlys wailed as the poison drew closer. She had nowhere to escape to.

Was Percy grinning, or was that the corpse's skull showing through his translucent skin?

His eyes were horribly dead, though unmistakably alive. And the glint —

— Annabeth's foot nearly slipped off the precipice, and she realized how far she'd backed away.

From him.

"Percy!" she yelled. Percy, please hear me. Listen.

He looked at her. He saw her. He was there.

"Stop…" she said hoarsely, helplessly.

There was nothing more she could do but watch him turn back toward Misery. He was so clearly still angry, and yet conflicted...

"Percy, please…"

She waited — she pleaded — Please listen, Percy —

She woke —

She cried out, she shook.

Her cabin mates were surrounding her, a few were talking to her with calming voices —

There was Percy, his expression soft —

She was so glad to see him, but that fear —

Percy reached for her hand —

She flinched.

She thought, as she buried her face in her pillow to hide fresh tears, that no look in his eyes had ever cut her as deep as that one.