There's a fine line between death and destruction. Thalia had heard those words before. She disagreed.

It was true that they sometimes went hand in hand. They were linked by war. War killed and war destroyed. Innocent victims were slaughtered, and once grand buildings were reduced to little more than rubble. Thalia knew it. She had seen it.

The people with a role in war...that was a different story. They were more complicated than a building. Much more. They left an impact on the earth, greater than any building, no matter how majestic that building. War destroyed some people and killed others.

Death was the final destination, the ultimate destination. It was the end of life. Nothing could compare to it. Not destruction. Destruction couldn't even come close, because no matter what path you chose, it would end in death. It was unavoidable, no matter hoe much you fought it.

Destruction was something done, an act. It could bring death, but death couldn't bring destruction.

Thalia had met destruction before.

She had stood by and seen people she cared about die. The girl who she had cared for like a sister; her best friend, who had sacrificed himself for the world; the only boy she had ever given her heart to. She had seen them be killed, and it had destroyed her.

She had met destruction, and they had met death. But she had not yet met death, and they hadn't met destruction.

Thalia believed that you couldn't kill a part of someone. Part of someone didn't die. A soul could be ripped apart, destroyed beyond repair. But it couldn't be killed. That was what had happened to her.

Annabeth, Luke, Percy...they had all been different. They hadn't been destroyed. They had only changed, slowing morphing into new people. They had all died with a friend to hold their hand. Thalia wouldn't. They had been the ones she loved most of all, and she didn't want to die with anyone other than them holding her hand. She would have to die eventually, and they were already dead. She would die alone.

Death could be met peacefully, and that was what had happened with all three of them. They hadn't met destruction, but they had willingly taken Thanatos's hand and passed on. Thalia hadn't thought ahead when she had pledged herself to Artemis, accepted the title of the goddess's lieutenant, become a Hunter. She had prolonged her life unbearably. She wished it could end, but she wasn't someone who would bring that fate upon herself.

Thalia had known that Luke must die when he did. So she had simply nodded and wished a silent farewell to the best friend that she had known, that would always be in her heart.

Annabeth's death had been worse. Luke had been older than her, someone who would always cheer her up. But Annabeth...it had been Thalia's responsibility to take care of her. Thalia had squeezed her little sister's hand and murmured a goodbye. And still, that wasn't what had destroyed her. Annabeth had been old, and ready to pass on.

Percy's...Thalia didn't know. She remembered tears in her intense blue eyes, and Percy's look of confused concern. It was ironic that as he died, he was worried about her. She didn't think that Percy had ever understood the difference between death and destruction, not until that last moment.

Even all these years later, Thalia still loved him. Sometimes, she would catch herself looking back and pondering his death, an old photograph in her hand. She knew it was pathetic. But she couldn't help it.

Percy had been a good person. If he had known that Thalia had loved him, he would never have done anything to hurt her on purpose. But he hadn't known, and he didn't realize that he was hurting her.

Thalia felt a tear form in her eye. It was that that had hurt her. Even as a Hunter, she had loved Percy, and she had never told him. He had died without knowing, and now all Thalia could wonder was what if?

She knew fully well that she had had a reason for not speaking up, and she knew it was justified. Friends would always come first, and to tell Percy that she loved him could have harmed Annabeth. To harm Annabeth would be worse than taking her hunting knife to her own pale, slender throat and letting the pure, red blood stain the pristine, white snow.

Thalia laughed a rueful laugh. She was giving herself too much credit. Annabeth and Percy had been meant to be together. Who could look at her next to Annabeth? Beautiful, intelligent, athletic Annabeth. There was no comparison.

Thalia reached into her pocket and slowly drew out a small photograph. It had been folded many times over the years, and creases had been long carved into it. Thalia's slim, pale hands unfolded the picture.

Three people. One of them was herself, looking almost exactly as she did today. The other was Luke, only a few years younger than he had been when he had died.

Annabeth was in the centre. Barely older than seven, she looked nothing like the mature woman Thalia had grown to know. But those grey eyes were just as intelligent as ever.

Thalia stared down at it in anguish. She drew another picture from her other pocket. She gazed at the young, handsome face of the only boy she had ever loved for a long moment before returning her eyes to Annabeth.

"Annabeth," she breathed. "I love you. Enjoy the rest of eternity with Percy."

For a brief moment, Thalia looked back at Percy. A lump formed in her throat, and she was only able to choke out one more word. "Goodbye."