Dreams were funny things, at least in Percy’s opinion. Entire worlds erupted behind closed eyes, sprawling and vivid beneath the thin blanket of sleep, and as Percy had learned during his years at Camp Half-Blood, they were also frighteningly easy to infiltrate. Tonight, however, he wasn’t dreaming.

The night was cold and quiet. Squinting against the darkness helped only marginally, the pale wash of moonlight doing little more than outlining the familiar shapes of cabins and trees. Camp lay still, an aftermath of the brutal game of capture the flag that had torn through the afternoon, demigods sprawled in their bunks, sleeping off bruises and exhaustion.

Except Percy. Never Percy.

He let out an irritated sigh, a dull ache still throbbing in his side where Clarisse had jabbed him earlier. His mind refused to settle, thoughts churning until frustration drove him out of his cabin and into the woods. Leaves crunched softly beneath his feet as he wandered the familiar paths, hands shoved into the pockets of the sweatpants he’d pulled on half-asleep. His left hand toyed absently with Riptide in its pen form, thumb rolling it back and forth like a reflex, like preparation.

The silence stretched, heavy and unbroken, until his ears caught a soft melody, hummed quietly somewhere ahead. Percy slowed, curiosity edging out irritation as caution crept in behind it. He pushed past a low-hanging branch, following the sound.

There, perched atop a small hill, bathed in silver moonlight, sat Guest. Her lips were pursed around the tune, voice barely above a whisper as she stared out into the distance, utterly absorbed.

Percy relaxed, just a little. No monsters. No imminent danger. Just another demigod wandering the woods at one in the morning.

He knew Guest. Sort of. No one really knew her well enough to claim otherwise. They’d exchanged a few words here and there, brief conversations that always left Percy with the oddest feeling, like he’d brushed against something he didn’t fully understand. Other demigods called her creepy. She had a habit of standing off to the side, watching with an unnerving focus, as if cataloguing every movement, every flaw.

Percy didn’t mind it. He respected it, in a way.

Still, seeing her like this, alone, humming softly beneath the moon, felt different. Quieter. Almost fragile.

He wondered if she was cold. For a fleeting second, he considered offering his jacket before dismissing the thought. She was probably fine.

Percy took a step closer anyway, jaw tightening with an unfamiliar sense of apprehension.