Annabeth turned her knife around in her polishing cloth, deep in thought. It was her turn to watch, as Leo had just returned to his sleeping bag. It wasn't really her actual turn, but with Leo constantly tapping his foot, whistling, throwing rocks as far as he could, and doing several other things that generated loud noise, someone had to volunteer to let the others get some sleep.

Annabeth plunged her knife back into the deep, wet soil, one more time, cleansing it of any leftover monster slime from her stabbing of the Amphisbaena. She had sliced off its head on its tail, giving them a huge advantage be causing it to only see in front, and they killed it completely five minutes later. The fact that the Amphisbaena had come back from Tartarus was a bad sign, a very bad sign. Being one of the most ancient monsters in Greek mythology, a hero would have felt a surge of victory when killing it, knowing that it would not return for another several hundred years.

An Amphisbaena was basically an ugly, half lizard, half snake, with a head where a dragons' would be, and another attached to the tip of its tail. Annabeth knew this, of course. The last recorded hero to kill had been King Arthur, while searching for the Holy Grail. Before that, Sinbad. Before that, Cato's army had killed in the Libyan Desert during their march. In all of history, it had probably only been killed three or four times, not counting today, of course. It was said to be the spawn of Medusa, emerging from her head when it was cut off by—. No. Annabeth thought, stopping her own thoughts in their tracks. No. I will not do this to myself. She shook her head clear, and just to relieve the stress, she stabbed her knife deeply into the Earth again, twisting it into the ground as far as it would go, and pulled it out agiain to find that it had left a hole perfect for planting a flower pot. Grover would be pleased with her.

"Take that, Gaea." She muttered, smirking, but it quickly disappeared. Sliding her knife between the cloth again, she continued to ask herself the same question she had been asking for two months. Why is it always full circle? Why does it always circle back to him? Uh. She continued rubbing her knife clean, aware that the faint glow the celestial bronze gave off was the only thing that lit the black night. It irked her so much. She refused to forget about him, and was determined to find him, but on the other hand, it was so hard to even think about him. To even hear or say his name.

Annoyed now, she dropped the cloth and stood up, and began to do what she always did when she was agitated; she paced, one hand on her knife poised behind her back, the other spinning and twirling the beads on her necklace round and round. Where was he? Even though it was stupid, she kept thinking it. It was a stupid question altogether, because she basically knew where he was: somewhere in Northern California, stripped of the knowledge of his entire life, learning things that he already knew. Annabeth's smirk returned. She could imagine him fumblimg with an arrow, the way he always did, under the pressure of some other Roman half-blood, yelling at him to up his game. They would all think he was worthless, stupid. Then he would come to the sword arena, and then they would see. They would all see. See him, great and mighty, slaying all of them, one by one, with a sword made of metal that they did not recognize. The smirk did not leave her face.

After that, they would study him, no doubt, try to find what was different about him. Why he would never die. She froze. She remembered that stirring inside her chest, a year ago, on the breaking Washington Bridge. Ethan Nakamura, somehow aiming his knife at the one perfect spot. She remembered her jumping, the poisoned metal contacting her flesh. And then the never-ending pain in her shoulder. So much pain. Then she remembered when he visited her on the balcony of the Plaza, his pushing past all of the other kids, his face twisted into so much worry it made her want to cry. And then her told her, making her the only one to know that precious piece of knowledge. Trusting her with his life.

She couldn't think about this anymore. All the memories that he couldn't enter, or even think about. Because they weren't there any longer. She hated doing it, but, slowly, she shook Piper awake, informing her that it was her turn to stand guard. Piper knew this was a lie. In some ways, like Grover, she could read the emotions of others, and either way, Annabeth's were pretty visable: she was heartbroken

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Annabeth crawled into her sleeping bag, facing away from Piper. This was wrong. She never cried. The last time she cried was when she was watching Luke Castlellen die before her very eyes. But she could feel the tears coming, already running down her cheeks. She choked out one word:

"No."