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The moment Percy sees Annabeth, covers rising and falling with her breath, relief floods through him. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if…no, he can’t think about that. She’s here, and she’s okay. That’s what matters now.
That, and getting off this ship.
Of course, before he can take another step toward her, Luke appears. Percy’s jaw tightens.
“Annabeth?”
Percy tracks him as he approaches Annabeth’s bedside. One wrong move, and Percy swears he’ll be on Luke in a second. Percy tenses further when he notices Annabeth’s dagger in one of his hands.
“How do you feel?” Luke asks, as if he of all people has any right to ask her that.
His fingers twitch toward his pocket, resisting the growing urge to uncap Riptide and remind Luke that nobody messes with his friends and gets away with it.
“Alive. I’m guessing because of you.” A spark of hope shimmers in her eyes as she looks at him.
A tightness settles behind Percy’s chest.
Her eyes flicker downward to Luke’s hand. “And you brought my dagger too. Thanks.”
Not a trace of worry or fear exists in her voice despite all that he’s done. All that she’s seen him do.
“It was mine first, remember?” He smiles, spinning it in his palm. “Things always end up where they should.”
Yeah, just like Luke’s gonna end up over the side of the ship when Percy is through with him.
Percy’s fist clenches around his pen. The weird, itchy, tingly sensation of Annabeth’s invisibility cap doesn’t help his restlessness. He needs to get Annabeth out of here, far away from this ship. Far away from him.
He takes a silent step closer to Luke. He resists the urge to shout, Luke is bad! He’s manipulating you. She’s made it clear how she feels.
“I don’t think Luke can be saved.”
“And I do.”
Luke sets Annabeth’s dagger down on a nearby table. Unarmed, although his cronies are still hanging around. “The fleece is working its magic healing Kronos right now. Speeding his return from Tartarus. All thanks to Percy.”
Luke moves to the end of Annabeth’s bed and kneels down. Don’t touch her!
“He defied the will of the gods by handing it over. Kid’s got heart, I’m not gonna lie.”
Percy swallows hard. Annabeth has no doubt figured out what happened, but for once, she doesn’t know everything. Doesn’t know the way his heart stopped in his chest when he saw her unmoving on the ground, the utter helplessness he felt as he clawed at the rocks trying to reach her. He never wants to feel like that again.
This is all Percy’s fault. He never should’ve trusted Luke, yet he can’t make himself regret the decision to hand the fleece over. Who cares about the gods? At that moment, all that mattered was her. A bit of guilt over sabotaging the quest is nothing compared to the fear of Annabeth being taken from them. And now, he’s getting her back no matter the cost.
“He wasn’t thinking about the gods. He was thinking about saving a friend,” Annabeth says, causing warmth to bloom in his chest.
“And he ended up saving the world.”
His and Annabeth’s recent conversations about the prophecy flicker across his mind, about how he’s destined to be a weapon. It’s been weighing on him more than he’d like to admit. But knowing Annabeth doesn’t think of him as a weapon, that helps.
“Luke, you have to stop this. You have to get the fleece off the sarcophagus now.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can.” Annabeth’s tone shifts. “You just have to leave now, get it, and bring it back to me.”
Percy’s eyes flicker between them. He immediately understands her plan. She wants him to sneak away now for the fleece while Luke is occupied.
The thing is, Percy trusts Annabeth, trusts in her plans and her mind and her abilities. He’d be dead a million times over without her. But he doesn’t trust Luke. He won’t make that mistake again.
So he doesn’t listen. Instead of leaving to get the fleece like he probably should, he stays. Half of a plan of his own forms. Well, maybe less than half. A quarter of a plan? A teaspoon of a plan? Now he’s just naming baking measurements. The point is, it’s more of a vague idea than anything, but he doesn’t have time to run through the logistics.
His plan-not-plan is this: Use some sort of distraction to lure Luke and his lackeys out. Get Annabeth out. Get Grover and Tyson, then get far, far away from the ship. Oh, they should probably get Clarisse and the fleece, too, but only if they have time. Yeah. That sounds pretty good. It might not be a plan worthy of Athena, but it’s good enough for him, at least.
Not wanting to waste any more time listening to Luke’s drivel, Percy tiptoes over to the door. He swings it open and shut, as if he actually left. As expected, the heavy metal door squeals and groans at the movement. Luke’s head turns at the noise, and Percy hurries back toward them.
“Go check it out,” Luke orders his crewmates, who nod and head out the door.
Come on, follow them, Percy silently urges, but Luke stubbornly remains at Annabeth’s bedside.
“This siege has already broken down camp to the point where they’re ready to surrender. They just don’t know it yet. If they get the Fleece, it’ll make them want to fight back, and then they will die. That’s why I can’t let you have it.”
Annabeth breathes in deeply. “What if I told you something that would change your mind?”
It won’t do anything. Nothing will change his mind.
“Nothing will change my mind.”
“I had a vision. When the Fleece was healing me, I felt its power, its history, what it can do.” She pauses, a small smile on her lips as she continues, “Luke… I think the Fleece can bring Thalia back to us.”
Percy’s heartbeat speeds up. Invisible lightning flashes in the corner of his eyes, a harsh reminder of the cloaked figure of Thalia from his vision. The smell of electricity, sharp and brutal, buzzes in the air.
He doesn’t want to believe it, but knows Annabeth is telling the truth. As much as the thought stings, she wouldn’t lie to Luke about this. Not when she believes he can be saved, and not with their history.
But Thalia coming back? Gods, that would change everything.
Percy inhales shakily. He should be happy. A demigod who was supposed to be dead being healed and coming back to life is good news. Sure, he didn’t know her, but Thalia means the world to Annabeth. Maybe that’s part of the problem.
Annabeth and Luke are still talking about her, but their words are static. Percy’s mom always told him to give a voice to his emotions, but Percy doesn’t feel anything right now. Mostly, he just feels…numb.
Selfishly, Percy thinks it would be easier if Thalia didn’t come back at all.
Suddenly, Luke clutches at his head, gasping. Percy startles, slamming back into reality.
“Luke?!”
Instead of answering, Luke stumbles away, hand clamped against his forehead. Kronos, it has to be. Percy remembers the blinding pain in his head during his conversations with Kronos.
He leaves the room, followed by his concerned lackeys. Yeah, you’d better go. Your master is calling.
“Luke!” Annabeth cries out, the sound sending daggers through Percy’s chest. For a second, he wonders if she’ll blow her cover to follow him. The thought scares him, and he’s not sure how he’d react if she did.
Thankfully, he doesn’t have to worry because she doesn’t move. Still, her hands fidget under the blanket, eyes fixed on where Luke fled.
That’s Percy’s cue. It’s time to reveal that he defied Annabeth’s instructions and stayed here the whole time. That won’t be awkward at all. Percy doesn’t want to think about this mess for another second. At least trying to get out of here alive will work as a much needed distraction.
Best to just yank off the bandaid, as the saying goes. He grabs the rim of the hat and pulls it off, shivering at the feeling of ants finally dissipating.
Annabeth flinches. Her eyebrows furrow as she sees him.
“Percy? There’s no way you got the fleece that fast…” the realization dawns on her. Yup, she’s mad. “You never left!”
“I couldn’t leave you alone.” With him.
“I told you the Fleece is all that matters!”
“And I told you that you’re my priority!” Percy shouts back. He runs a hand through his hair. Then, calmer, but more insistent, “You’re always my priority.”
A breath escapes Annabeth’s lips. “Seaweed Brain, I can take care of myself.”
“Trust me, I know you can. Doesn’t mean you always have to.”
She rolls her eyes, but a small smile tugs at her lips.
“Now come on, let’s grab the golden fleece–”
Footsteps echo across the ship’s metal corridors. Annabeth lunges for her dagger, and they duck behind the nearest shelf, crouching down and peering between the stacks of boxes. Shoulder-to-shoulder, they listen as a larger group of demigods enters the room. Allison leads the troops, a quiver slung across her shoulder and bow in hand. Even worse, at the back of the room is a Laestrygonian.
“I see five of them,” Percy whispers in her ear.
“She’s quick. Don’t let her get by,” Allison orders, and they begin scanning the room.
Annabeth whispers back, “I’ll distract them. It’s me they want, after all. They don’t know you’re here yet. I’ll draw their attention, then you sneak up and get the fleece like you should’ve done before.”
She was a distraction on Polyphemus’s island, too. The smack of her body landing against the rocky grounds echoes in his ears. He just got her back, and now she wants him to leave her to the mercy of these demigods?
“No, you can’t. Five against one? And you were just injured–”
“The fleece healed me. I’m okay. They still don’t know you’re here, and we can use that to our advantage. I can hold my own long enough.”
“I’m sorry about this, Annabeth,” Allison says. The sound of her bow drawing. “Kronos’ orders were clear.”
“Percy, please. We’re running out of time. Get the fleece, then find the others. Meet back on the lido deck. I’ll be fine. Go. I really mean it this time.”
He presses his lips together. As much as he hates it, he knows it’s probably the best option. Also, there’s no way she’s going to take no for an answer this time. This is an argument he won’t win.
Percy shoves her Yankees cap into her hand. At least with her invisibility cap, she’s more protected. Their eyes lock. “Be careful.”
She nods, a tight smile on her lips. Percy tiptoes around the backside of their hiding spot. Annabeth immediately steps out and reveals herself to the demigods, dagger poised in front of her. In her other hand, the one tucked behind her back, she holds her cap.
“I’m right here,” Annabeth says loudly.
They all converge on her. The giant roars, moving away from the door. Percy ignores the pit in his stomach and takes his opening, hurrying behind them to slip away. The last thing he sees is an arrow flying, weapons swinging, and Annabeth disappearing.
She’s a strong fighter, one of the best Percy knows. Plus, she’s got her cap. The faster he gets the fleece, the faster he can come back and help. Clarisse is also supposed to be around here somewhere. Maybe they’ll run into each other.
Percy heads to the fleece, knowing that the sooner he gets it, the sooner he gets back to her.
Annabeth swipes her hat onto her head right as she dives away from the path of the incoming arrow. Startled and disgruntled shouts fill the air.
“Block her in! Don’t let her get around you!” Allison barks.
The group obediently forms a half-circle around the only exit. So much for slipping out around them. There’s no way she’ll be able to sneak past a wall of armed demigods, even with her cap.
Allison is seething, jaw set as her eyes scan the room. “Close in!”
The giant sniffs the air, roars, and tromps toward her general direction at an alarming speed. Annabeth runs, having speed at her advantage. She accidentally trips over something, alerting everyone to her presence. Spot now revealed, Annabeth starts tipping over boxes behind her as she runs. The giant follows close behind. It swings his heavy club, but with its slow reaction time, it misses by a long shot and stumbles over a box of life vests. The beefy head slams into the metal wall of the ship with a clang. It groans, momentarily incapacitated.
Annabeth searches for an escape route. She scrambles toward another metal shelving unit and drops to her hands and knees. Dagger’s hilt in her mouth, she crawls through a narrow gap between boxes past one of the demigods.
“Cover all the aisles!”
A demigod sweeps the aisle she was just in with his sword. Annabeth slips around another row. It’s like a high-stakes game of hide and seek, and Annabeth can’t lose.
Even though her decision to have Percy go for the fleece was the right one tactically, she can’t help but wish he were fighting alongside her. It’s strange how strongly she feels his absence. But after facing multiple battles and now two quests together, she’s gotten used to having him on her six.
Unfortunately, the giant won’t stay busy for long. He already seems better, rubbing his head less and standing up straighter. Annabeth quickly weighs the options. One, she could continue to evade them, but it’s only a matter of time before they find her. Two, she could fight, but as confident as she is in her skills, taking on five demigods and a giant all by herself is risky. Three, she could try to make a run for the door, but she’ll have to get past multiple demigods before then, and even if she makes it, they’ll know her position.
Well, she'd better make up her mind fast, because the giant is sniffing the air, and his large head turns in her direction. Annabeth holds her breath.
The giant growls, lifting up a foot, but before he can even make the first step, a spear flies straight through his chest, turning him to dust. Annabeth and all the other demigods turn to see Clarisse, grinning.
“Five against one, huh? My kind of odds.”
They charge at her, and Clarisse charges back. Allison fires an arrow, but Clarisse deflects it with the swing of an axe. There’s no doubt that she’s a warrior, knocking down demigod after demigod. But Annabeth can help.
Hat still on, she tackles a demigod who was sneaking up on Clarisse. The demigod stabs at her, but not knowing where to stab, misses. Still, he’s mad and fast, and his elbow clips Annabeth, knocking her down. Her hat slips off her head, revealing her position. The demigod snarls at her. Annabeth rolls out of the way of his sword, then jumps to her feet and deflects his next blow with her dagger. He runs at her again, and this time she flips him over her shoulder. She finishes it with a kick to his face, leaving him down and knocked out.
She looks toward Clarisse, who managed to knock down the remaining two. Panting, Clarisse says, “Ah. I needed that.”
“I thought you were going for the Fleece.”
“I took a detour when I heard what these idiots were planning. Is that okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” She pauses. “Percy went for the Fleece.”
Clarisse snorts, “You think Sea Twerp’s gonna be able to get it on his own?”
If someone had asked her that at the start of their first quest, Annabeth would’ve responded with a resounding no. But that was before she got to know Percy, before she witnessed his heart and strength, even against impossible odds. She believes in him. She doesn’t doubt that for a second.
Before Annabeth can respond, an alarm starts blaring. She sends Clarisse a look. He got it.
Clarisse huffs, then motions for the door. Annabeth swipes her cap from its fallen position, stuffs it back in her pocket, and follows.
Percy’s glad Annabeth has her hat back, but it makes it a lot harder to sneak to the Admiralty Suite. Luke has amassed a huge army of monsters and demigods that would no doubt all try to maim him on sight, and Percy doesn’t want to be on the cruise ship’s buffet menu tonight.
His stomach growls loudly at the reminder of food. It would be pretty pathetic if his craving for blue jellybeans is what got him caught.
Of course, right as he thinks that, Percy spots a horde of Laestrygonians led by two demigods. He ducks behind a corner and holds his breath. One of the giants pauses for a second, sniffing the air, but one of the demigods shoves him, grunting, “Get going! There’s no time to waste!”
Thankfully, they keep going straight toward the forges. Percy waits until they’re a safe distance away before moving again. Percy’s never been good with directions, but the layout of this ship makes perfect sense, even having only looked at the map that one time.
After sneaking around a few more stray demigods, he spots the service elevator at the end of the hall that will take him to the golden fleece. He scans the stolen badge on the device reader. The elevator dings, and Percy slips inside. With any luck, no other demigods or monsters will be needing to use the elevator—now that would be awkward.
Percy taps his foot. Muzak plays in the elevator, which gets interrupted by an ad: Tired from planning the downfall of Olympus? Don’t miss our five-star, resort-style spa on the second floor!
By some miracle, no one else joins him. At the top, the elevator dings. Percy uncaps Riptide as the doors open. He steps out, and the elevator closes behind him. Well, an angry army didn’t charge at him the second the doors opened. That’s a promising sign.
Still, Percy stays on alert as he hurries toward the admiralty suite. One of the doors is open, and Percy peeks into the room from behind it. Spread atop Kronos’s sarcophagus lies the golden fleece, glittering as the sun from the wide array of windows hits it. There’s no one inside. Wow, talk about a lack of security. Not that Percy’s complaining.
He sheaths Riptide and slowly approaches the sarcophagus.
“I knew that you would return to me,” Kronos’s voice rings in his head.
“Return…” Percy pauses. “I remember what you said. That my survival is the key to your return. I know what that means now. The Great Prophecy, right?”
Annabeth’s words, the words that have been plaguing him since he heard them, replay in his head. “The prophecy tells of a child of the eldest three, who upon reaching 16 years of age, will become a powerful weapon.” No, he refuses to be some powerful weapon for Kronos. That won’t be his destiny.
Percy shakes his head. “But you’re wrong.” He stretches his hand for the fleece.
“I will tell you the Great Prophecy if you leave me the fleece.”
Percy freezes, the words momentarily stealing his breath. But no, there’s no way he knows the real prophecy; he isn’t about to fall into that trap. Kronos is just trying to recruit Percy to his side, like he convinced Luke and the other demigods. “You just lie.”
“I trust you to decide.” Before Percy can say anything, he rasps, “A half-blood of the eldest gods, shall reach 16 against all odds, And see the world in endless sleep, the hero’s soul, cursed—”
“Okay, I decided.” Percy yanks the golden fleece off the sarcophagus. Kronos goes silent.
Percy still doesn’t believe him, but he can’t deny the way his heart sped up hearing Kronos speak the supposed prophecy. He doesn’t have time to think about it right now, though. He has to get back to Annabeth and the others.
Fleece tucked under one arm, he turns. Then, movement. Luke appears out of nowhere, glaring at Percy.
“I should’ve known,” Luke says.
He looks at the fleece. His face twists, and in a swift motion, pulls his sword from its place on the wall. Percy barely manages to uncap Riptide in time, whole arm vibrating as the metal hits with a loud clang.
Percy falls into the rhythm of the fight. Swing and duck, block and dodge. Every time they fight, he can’t help but remember those early days of sword training at Camp Half-Blood. Luke’s style is still the same, but he’s more chaotic in his movements—more desperate. And with that desperation, a fiery rage lights up in his eyes.
Luke doesn’t hold back. He’s fast and mad and dangerous, and just when Percy thinks he’s about to get the upper hand, Luke swoops back down on him like a monster to its demigod prey.
It doesn’t help that Percy is still clutching the fleece under his other arm, rendering his balance totally off kilter. Not only does he have to focus on not dropping the fleece, but he has to do so while also avoiding getting his head chopped off.
A kick shoves Percy backward, and he stumbles before regaining his footing. His arms ache, and his chest heaves with exertion. A few feet away, Luke also takes a split second to catch his breath.
Scowling, Percy raises his sword higher and charges. But Luke must’ve anticipated his movements, because when Percy starts to swing, Luke captures his wrist in a painful grip and knocks Riptide right out of his hand.
Luke squeezes his wrist tighter, and Percy groans. He wrestles to break free, but to no avail. Trapped weaponless by Luke, Percy doesn't have time to think when Luke swings his sword at his throat. He ducks out of the way just in time, abrupt motion causing Luke to lose his grip. It sends them both careening, and they smash against a nearby table.
Again, Luke lunges at him, and Percy darts around. Riptide’s familiar weight still hasn’t returned to his pocket. Attempting to place more distance between them, Percy rolls on top of the table. This time, when Luke slashes, he kicks the weapon away. In retaliation, Luke smashes his fist into Percy’s leg.
Percy grunts, leg crumpling. That moment is all it takes. Luke grabs him, and the world flips upside down as he’s thrown over Luke’s shoulder. He lands on his back, all of the air escaping his lungs with a choked gasp.
He struggles to get back up. Riptide has finally returned to his pocket, and he moves to reach for it. Luke’s shoe rams down against his hand before he can get into his pocket. A pulsing, tingling pain runs up his forearm.
“You’re on the wrong side of this war,” Luke says. “The gods don’t care about you–they don’t care about any of us.”
Percy glares up at him. “You betrayed camp, you betrayed your friends, all for Kronos’ lies. So even if that is true...you’re no better than they are.”
The vein on Luke’s forehead pulses, and his expression darkens. Percy has to act now.
He curls his lips inward over his teeth, flattens his tongue, and lets out a sharp New York-style whistle. Luke startles, looking at him like he’s lost his mind.
Crash! The window shatters, glass raining around them. A dark form slams into Luke, and he falls to the ground with a groan.
Percy sits up carefully as Blackjack trots toward him. Thank the gods the pegasus responded to his call.
“Thanks for the save.”
You did me the favor. I’ve been wanting to do that for way too long!
Percy climbs to his feet. Glass crunches underneath his shoes. The fleece is still safely tucked under his arm, and he brushes it off. He looks at Blackjack, and an idea forms. Even though he kinda hates his decision, he knows that it's the correct choice and the right thing to do.
“Would you do me another favor?” Percy asks. Blackjack whinnies and ducks his head, as if nodding. “Another demigod needs to get this fleece back to Camp Half-Blood as soon as possible. Will you find her and give her a ride? And then you could stick around there, if you’d like.”
Anything to get off this stupid ship! Do you know what they’ve been feeding me? Hay! I’m a pegasus, not a horse.
“I’ll make sure you get lots of good food at camp.” Percy promises, draping the fleece over Blackjack’s back. “Her name is Clarisse. You can’t miss her. She’s loud and obnoxious, and carries a big spear.”
Got it, boss. See you soon?
“See you soon.”
Percy considers hitching a ride down with Blackjack, but he has one more thing he has to deal with. Or, one more person to be more specific.
Luke still appears to be knocked out cold, slumped against the wall. Percy fiddles with Riptide in pen form. He should kill him now. It would be easy and quick. He inches closer, heart pounding.
An alarm sounds throughout the boat, and Percy jumps back. Someone must’ve realized something was going on after the window shattered. Percy’s out of time; he needs to get out of there. He glances at the now silent sarcophagus, a shudder running through him. Then, he looks back at Luke.
Luke's eyes are open and staring back at him. Most importantly, he seems much more alert than Percy would’ve thought.
Percy bolts out the door of the admiralty suite and back toward the elevator. He scans his keycard and punches the down button over and over again. By some miracle, the elevator is still there waiting.
Rushing inside, Percy pushes the floor level for the lido deck, then hits the “close door” button repeatedly. Of course, like most elevators, the button seems to be essentially useless. But finally, the door starts closing. Percy sighs.
Everything is gonna be alr—
A glint of metal sneaks between the elevator doors. Luke’s cold, dark eyes lock on his just as a sharp, searing pain ignites between his ribs.
Well, he spoke too soon.
Percy chokes on a gasp. He slams against the back of the elevator and collapses to the floor.
Ringing echoes in his ears. His vision blurs.
Something hot and wet trickles down his abdomen. With a shaky hand, he brushes his fingertips against the dark spot spreading across his shirt. Pain ripples across his torso at the touch. He lifts his hand and stares at the trembling blur of his fingers, now smeared with red.
Blood, and it’s leaving his body at an alarming pace. He should’ve made the connection earlier, but his mind and body feel disconnected. His head suddenly grows too heavy, so he lets it fall back against the cool metal of the elevator.
He can hardly process the fact that Luke stabbed him. He knew what Luke was capable of; he told Annabeth as much multiple times, yet he still feels disbelief. Even as he sits there, slumped against the elevator wall with blood spilling from his stomach, it doesn’t seem real. But the pain sure is. He grunts, body spasming.
He sure could use the golden fleece’s magical healing powers right about now.
A sick feeling spreads through him, like the last time he got the flu. Sweat beads along his hairline. His body temperature swings between hot and cold. The world keeps spinning, and Percy blinks away dark spots.
Awake, stay awake. He needs to get his friends, get out of here, and get healed so he’s not a Percy shish kabab any longer. Ha, shish kabab. Maybe they should stop for shish kebabs on the way out of here, or the ship probably has some somewhere…
Wait, no. Focus, Percy. Concentrating is hard enough on a good day, but thinking coherent thoughts with a stab wound? Near impossible.
He just needs to find Annabeth. She’ll know what to do.
A ding causes him to flinch. The elevator. He’s got to get out of here. He blindly grapples for the bar behind him.
He drags himself up, gasping. One hand flies to his stomach, clutching at the red continuing to seep through. The other hand curls around the bar with an iron grip as he painfully climbs to his feet.
The elevator door is open, and once again he hears the alarms blaring. A red light flashes down the hallway. There’s no one in sight, but that could change at any moment. Percy uncaps Riptide and leans his weight against it, acting as a makeshift support in addition to a weapon.
The elevator starts to close, and Percy practically falls against the “open door” button. The doors instantly stop and open back up. He snorts. Of course, that button worked just fine.
Percy stumbles out of the elevator. Numbness settles into his core, which he realizes probably isn’t a good sign, but it does make it easier to stagger down the hall.
Up ahead, daylight breaks through to the lido deck. He made it. With a renewed sense of energy, Percy clambers past the doorway.
He begins to cross the deck, but before he can get too far, a bulky demigod blocks his path. Not confident in his sword-fighting abilities right now, Percy tries to grab hold of the sea, but it’s barely enough to send the boat rocking. The demigod stumbles slightly, but so does Percy.
Percy catches himself against the wall with a grimace. His opponent is much quicker to recover, sneering at him with his weapon raised.
When Clarisse and Annabeth get to the lido deck, they’re met with yet another group of demigods.
“Hey, there they are!” a girl shouts before four demigods rush toward them. Annabeth and Clarisse stand side-by-side, weapons raised and preparing to defend.
But before anyone can attack, their attention is redirected by the sound of…neighing?
A large, black pegasus descends from the upper levels, crashing directly into the four demigods and sweeping them off the side of the ship with its feathered wings.
The pegasus lands on the deck in front of them, the golden fleece draped along its back.
“That’s Luke’s pegasus,” Annabeth says.
Clarisse cracks her knuckles. “Then what are we waiting for! Let’s take it out! It has the fleece.”
“Wait!” Annabeth presses an arm against Clarisse to stop her from charging. The pieces fall into place. “Poseidon is the god of horses.”
“So?”
Annabeth takes a slow step forward, then another. The pegasus doesn’t move. Carefully, she holds out a hand despite Clarisse’s shout of alarm. As Annabeth expected, the pegasus doesn’t attack. Instead, it lowers its snout to press into her hand.
“Percy must’ve sent him. That’s why he defended us. That’s why he has the fleece.”
“Then where is Kelp Head?”
Annabeth’s mouth suddenly feels dry. She clears her throat, responding, “I don’t know. But I think he sent the pegasus for a reason.” She makes eye contact with Clarisse. “So you can finish your quest.”
At this, the pegasus neighs, trotting over to Clarisse and nudging her insistently.
“To fly home, alone…” Clarisse murmurs to herself. “But, Percy. The others—”
“I’ve got it handled. You’ve got to get the fleece back to camp and on Thalia’s tree as fast as possible.”
Clarisse hesitates, but at Annabeth’s nod, she mounts the pegasus. She bundles up the fleece and holds it tightly against her.
“I guess I’ll have to tell him thanks, when I see you all back at camp.”
“We’ll be there soon.”
With a final nod, Clarisse takes flight on the pegasus.
The fleece is coming, Thalia. You’re going to be ok.
Back that night on Half-Blood Hill, Annabeth wishes she could’ve done something, anything to help. This is her chance to make everything right again, to fix things back to the way they were supposed to be. Or at least, as close as they can be now. Sometimes, late at night, Annabeth still mourns what it would’ve been like if all three of them had arrived safely at camp. Those nights, she sneaks out of her bed to Thalia’s Tree and just talks. She tells Thalia when she leads her Capture the Flag team to victory, and when she becomes head counselor in the Athena Cabin. She tells her of Luke and Grover, and later, even Percy. But mostly, she tells her how much she misses her.
Now, Annabeth can tell Thalia all these things she’d never thought she’d be able to—for real.
She can’t wait to tell the others the good news.
Annabeth turns away from the horizon line, where dark storm clouds roll in from the sea to the shore. They still have to finish this quest and make it back home.
First things first, she needs to find Percy. He was obviously in the Admiralty Suite at some point, so she might as well start there.
She’s heading toward the direction of the elevator when a flash of blond curls catches her attention.
The ship rocks, sea water sloshing against the hull. Annabeth stumbles, but quickly regains her footing, hurrying toward them. Before the attacker notices her presence, she slams the butt of her knife against his temple, and he drops to the ground, unconscious.
Annabeth steps around the demigod, a greeting in her throat.
The words die on her lips, still parted. “Percy, you’re bleeding.”
It’s an understatement. A dark stain saturates the lower half of his torso in vibrant red. Sweat drips down his too-pale face. His legs tremble with the effort of staying upright.
“Laundry day is gonna suck,” he rasps.
His knees give out. She rushes forward, managing to catch him under the arms before he face-plants on the deck. His limp figure ends up dragging them both down.
“Percy,” she exhales, breath catching on his name.
Murky blue eyes flutter up to meet hers. “Hi.”
She resists her growing urge to punch him. Because how dare he get hurt like this? How dare he make Annabeth worry over the possibility of losing another one of her closest friends?
“What happened?!”
Percy’s lips settle into a line, one hand clenched. Even before he says it, she knows.
“Luke happened. Stabbed me."
Annabeth has always prided herself on knowing how to react calmly and logically in stressful situations, but for a moment, her mind fails her. All that remains are the physical sensations. Heart pounding in her chest, stealing the breath from her lungs. Her stomach twisted into knots.
Because Annabeth can’t fathom Luke inflicting that kind of damage on a fellow demigod, let alone one who used to be his friend. Yet the evidence is here, right in front of her. This version of Luke, the person he’s turned into, isn’t the Luke she knows. But she’s seen glimpses of the old Luke, even today when they were talking. That Luke is kind and protective. He’s the one who helped and cared for her on the streets alongside Thalia. Who made her feel safe.
She can’t give up on him, but now, seeing the devastating outcome of his choice, she feels more conflicted than ever.
But now isn’t the time for those feelings. Percy needs her.
Inhaling a deep, steadying breath, Annabeth refocuses on her first aid training. She was taught about tending to field injuries stemming from a variety of monsters. There were even pamphlets with diagrams from the Apollo Cabin, such as: What to do if a demigod gets maimed by a hellhound?
But this is different. This isn’t some random, wounded camper. It’s Percy.
And that makes it even more important.
First aid tip number one: always carry nectar and ambrosia. They did have some in their pack, but that’s obviously not here now. If only the golden fleece were still here, Percy would be healed up in no time. Annabeth should’ve made sure Percy was okay before they sent Clarisse off with the fleece. But she was thinking only of the success of the quest, and of bringing her friend back to life. And now she’s paying the price for her decision.
Fortunately, Annabeth always prepares for multiple contingencies. The most dangerous thing right now is the open wound; she needs to slow down the bleeding.
Annabeth gently settles Percy against the wall.
“You’re going to be ok,” she promises, taking his limp hand and squeezing it.
Even with a stab wound, he manages to smile. “‘Course I am, now that you’re here.”
Her stomach gives a little flip. She squeezes his hand once more before shrugging off her jacket, uncaring of the cold chill of the sea air. Then, she presses the bundled fabric against Percy’s stomach.
“Ah!” he hisses, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the wooden deck.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I have to stop the bleeding.” She hates that she's causing him more pain, but it's a necessary evil. He's already lost too much blood.
“It—it’s pretty bad, isn’t it?”
“You’re going to be ok,” she repeats firmly, as if willing her words into truth. Because she refuses to allow the alternative outcome.
Past the alarms still blaring, Annabeth hears the faint patter of footsteps behind her. She moves Percy's hands so he's now holding the jacket against his wound.
“Keep pressure there.”
She can’t wait to find out if Percy heard her instructions. Jumping to her feet, she turns around, dagger poised in front of her and trembling slightly.
A second later, two forms come barreling around the corner.
“Annabeth!” Grover bleats.
Tyson stands behind him, large eyebrow furrowed. He already knows something is wrong.
Annabeth's heart slows down. Her arm drops, and she resheaths her dagger.
“Hurry, he's hurt,” she says past the lump in her throat.
“Percy!” Tyson cries.
He’s still conscious but looks worse by the minute. Somehow, he's even paler than when he first stumbled onto the deck, reminiscent of when he got poisoned by the chimera. The pit that formed in her stomach then is nothing compared to the chasm now. The jacket against his stomach is slowly darkening from blood loss. Annabeth puts her hands atop Percy's and pushes back against it harder, making Percy groan in pain again.
“The fleece?” Grover asks hopefully.
Annabeth shakes her head. “Clarisse already took it. She’s on her way back to camp with it now.”
“I don’t have any nectar or ambrosia on me—but wait.” Grover freezes, sniffing the air.
“Grover?”
He ignores her, trotting back toward the lounge chairs on the lido deck and rummaging through a canvas beach bag. Over his shoulder, he tosses out a bottle of sunscreen, lip balm, and a miniature Minotaur figurine before letting out a triumphant bleat.
Between his fingers dangles a baggie with a familiar-looking cube. Ambrosia. Annabeth curses herself for not thinking to check around for supplies. It’s small, probably not enough to heal Percy completely, but it will help.
Annabeth takes it from him and presses the ambrosia into Percy’s mouth. “Eat, Seaweed Brain.”
He chews and swallows like it takes all his energy. But a few seconds later, some of the color returns to his face. The fog lifts from his eyes, and each rise of his chest no longer appears strained.
Carefully, she eases her jacket away from his stomach to take a peek. The wound still bleeds, but much more slowly. A trickle instead of a tidal wave.
Percy lifts his head from where it was drooping.
“Well, that sucked.”
He attempts to sit up, one hand braced underneath him.
“Whoa, slow down—you’re not out of the woods yet,” Annabeth warns.
“I’m fine.” He winces at a sudden movement. “Well, fine enough.”
“You were just bleeding out!”
Percy opens his mouth to respond, but Tyson interrupts them. “Voices. Not far away.”
“We need to get out of here and back to camp,” Percy says.
He tries to get back to his feet, to his credit, he almost makes it before his knees buckle under him.
Fortunately, Annabeth was anticipating it. She grabs hold of his arm, and Grover rushes over to support his other side.
Glancing between them, Percy quips, “Just like old times, huh?”
She shares a look with Grover, neither of them amused.
Now appearing much steadier, Percy motions for them to step away. Despite his initial slip, he now holds himself almost normally—only a small hunch in his posture and tense shoulders give away his wound.
And okay, now Annabeth can hear the voices too, which is not a good sign. It’s time to go. They hurry toward the gangway at the side of the ship. Thank the gods Tyson is there, because when two demigods come around the corner, he doesn’t even give them a chance to get through, instead ramming right into them and knocking them flat.
They don’t run into any other obstacles on their way off the Princess Andromeda. While Annabeth is thankful for their easy exit, it raises her suspicions. Why haven’t more reinforcements come? After all, Luke was desperate to get the fleece in the first place, so it’s strange that he wouldn’t be using all the resources at his disposal to get it back.
She can’t dwell on it. Right now, their priority is getting back to camp.
As they navigate through the crowded port of Fisherman’s Warf, Annabeth continues to glance over at Percy, checking that he’s still standing. He catches her eye once, and she hastily looks away. None of the passing tourists care that one of them is drenched in blood. The Mist is as strong as ever. Annabeth wishes that the Mist would spare her from having to see it, too.
Raindrops begin to fall from the overcast skies. Tyson and Grover lead them away from the fleet of ships at the docks, through a set of shops, and finally toward the parking lot.
“Did you guys end up finding a ride back?” Percy asks.
The two of them hesitate.
“Well…” Grover trails off.
Tires screech on wet asphalt as a blue Prius jerks to a stop in front of them.
The front window rolls down, revealing Sally Jackson in the driver’s seat. Annabeth hasn’t officially met her, but she’s seen pictures and heard stories from Percy. Even if she hadn’t, the relation is obvious: They share the same elongated face shape, the same nose bridges, and the same kind eyes.
“Ready to—” Sally cuts herself off as she catches sight of Percy, hand flying over her mouth.
Percy, whose shirt is still drenched in blood. Despite Annabeth knowing the wound underneath is healing, the way the vivid red color stands out against his pale skin still sends an ache through her stomach.
He flips the edge of his jacket over it as if that poor attempt will hide the massive stain.
“You’re hurt.”
Sally lurches to unclip her seatbelt, fingers fumbling with the buckle.
Percy gets in the car faster than she can get out. His face scrunches up as he bends, and Annabeth takes an automatic step toward him. But his mother’s hands are there, guiding him as he falls into the seat with a sharp exhale.
Once Percy has made it in, Annabeth and the others squeeze into the backseat together. Up front, Sally continues fusses over him.
“I’m ok, Mom. I’m ok.”
“This does not look ok.”
Sally’s hands hover over him, eyes wide with fear. Annabeth’s heart pangs; her father and stepmother never cared that much for her well-being. Unlike the obvious connection between Sally and Percy, her family barely knew her. She wants a family, a true family, like Percy and Sally. Maybe that's part of the reason she reconnected with her dad, although after this summer, it still seems like she'll never belong in that world.
The closest thing she ever had to family growing up was Luke and Thalia. Now, they have another chance. Annabeth fiddles with the ends of her braids. Soon.
“Mom—” Percy protests as Sally leans in to inspect the wound closer.
“You’re still bleeding.”
“I got some ambrosia. It’s fine, really—”
“Check under the seat.” Sally turns toward the trio in the back. “There should be bandages.”
Annabeth finds not just bandages, but a comprehensive first aid kit plus other supplies, from snacks to flashlights to tools.
“You came prepared,” Annabeth says, handing her a roll of bandages. It’s the first thing she ever says to Sally Jackson.
Sally smiles softly at her as she takes it, lines around her eyes crinkling. “Annabeth. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
She sits up straighter. “Ms. Jackson.”
“Sally,” she corrects. “And I have a troublemaker demigod for a son. I learned long ago to be prepared for anything.”
Sally presses the bandages to Percy, holding both of his hands between her own while they share a meaningful look. Sally closes her eyes for a second, exhaling shakily before turning back toward the wheel.
“I’ll take you all back to camp. But on the way, you’re going to tell me exactly what happened…”