Annabeth stares into his eyes. Her gaze unyielding. A storm, sweeping over an ocean.
It occurs to her this may be the last time she sees him, again.
The last time she sees how he looks at her.
How he searches her.
How he drinks her in.
Something flashes in her, like lightning.
Gods.
Sword clenched in one hand, he emerges from battle. His brows are a dark, charcoal line, and he moves just close enough that every single strand of hair comes into focus. Like some hero in an action movie, he walks away, and the world explodes behind him.
Something inside her breaks.
He holds her, in pieces, and she crumbles; and she knows the wind will eventually scatter her, but it doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter.