Annabeth woke to a gentle touch on her cheek and a soft kiss on her shoulder.

If she'd been having anything other than nightmares lately, she might've thought she was dreaming. As it was, all evidence pointed to her being awake. She was smiling before she opened her eyes.

"Is it noon?" she asked, rolling over so she could see him. He was lying on his side, one hand still touching her face, brushing stray hair from her eyes.

"Not quite," Perseus said. He at least had the decency to sound guilty about it, but Annabeth hadn't really expected her request to be honored anyways. "More like sunset."

"Already?" Annabeth asked, sitting up and frowning. She knew she had been tired, but she hadn't realized she'd been tired enough to sleep the entire day. Add to that a completely dreamless sleep, and the passage of time felt disorienting.

"You needed the rest," Perseus said, sitting up with her. She knew he was right, that if she'd been soundly asleep for twelve hours it was probably a sign that she probably had needed the sleep. Still, she felt a bit bad for being completely useless the entire day.

"I didn't dream at all," Annabeth said, rubbing her temple lightly with one hand. "Maybe I should sleep more during the day."

"You might have to, since I volunteered us for watch duty tonight," Perseus said. Annabeth glanced at him sideways. He was just barely holding back a smile.

"Just us?" she asked, though judging from the look on his face she already knew the answer.

"Just us," he confirmed.

That sent something of a thrill through her, which was a bit ridiculous considering they were already alone together. But still— a whole night where they could just be together, without having to hide or sneak around— that felt like a big deal. She didn't know how he'd managed it, especially since he'd already been up all day.

"Won't you be tired?" she asked, hating herself for saying it. As much as she wanted to be alone with him, they were getting dangerously close to their destination. This might be the last night they had aboard the ship, and if he'd been up since morning he needed to rest before they reached the city.

But he was already shaking his head. "I slept most of the day too. Just woke up an hour or two ago."

"Where?" Annabeth asked, surprised. She had been sleeping soundly, but she also felt sure she would have noticed if he'd come in and slept next to her.

Perseus just cracked a grin. "Your bedroll, actually."

"You could have taken your bed!"

"Because that wouldn't have been suspicious at all," he said, sarcastically, through a smile.

"Well, you could have woken me. I would have switched," Annabeth said, rolling her eyes, though she was finding it hard to bury her smile too.

"I'm almost offended you considered that to be a real possibility," he said, indeed, feigning an air of offense.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. "What, waking me?"

"You needed the sleep," he said, again, though this time it came out a little too innocently, "Besides, it was my fault you were up most the night anyway."

Annabeth couldn't help but laugh at that, as much as she tried to suppress it.

"I like to think of that as a mutual effort, actually," she said. They were already close, maybe a few inches distance separating them, but she found herself moving closer anyways, almost unconsciously.

"Oh, do you?"

His cockiness was nearly ruined by the lopsided grin beginning to take form on his face.

Nearly.

Annabeth couldn't resist any longer. She leaned over and kissed him, her hands tangling in his hair in an almost automatic gesture. She'd meant it to be quick, but from the way he kissed her back she soon found herself closing the space between them, getting closer and closer until she was straddling his lap.

There were so many ways of kissing him, she was finding, and each seemed better than the last. This one was long and slow, a little too dirty to be sweet; but not so quick to be desperate. His hands had found her waist, his thumbs pressing insistently into the skin just above her hip bone

A now familiar feeling of desire was starting to pool in her stomach, and she could feel him growing hard underneath her. She pulled back with some degree of difficulty, completely breathless.

"We could…" she trailed off, biting her lip. She tried to calculate in her head how much time they had before people started getting suspicious. It might be enough, so long as they were fast. He groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall.

"I swear you'll be the death of me," he said, eyes closed, though his hands firmly remained on his hips.

"We could, though," Annabeth said. Her fingers slipped down from his hair, one finding the little mark she'd made behind his ear.

"They're expecting us soon," he said, clearly trying very hard to not acknowledge her touch.

"How soon?" she asked. He opened his eyes, clearly doing his best to give her a serious look. He wasn't quite succeeding.

"Too soon."

"Maybe I'm a slow riser," Annabeth suggested. He smiled, letting out a breathy laugh.

"I don't think anyone is that slow. Especially not you."

Annabeth sighed, leaning back. She really wasn't, and Jason and Piper knew that. She'd gotten lucky that Jason hadn't recognized the love mark on her chin for what it was, but if they kept being careless about it they were sure to be found out.

But would that really be so bad? a very dangerous part of her brain asked.

It wouldn't be as disastrous as the others finding out she was a Greek, or a daughter of a maiden goddess, but at the very least it would make things incredibly awkward. Piper certainly wouldn't approve. Jason was trickier. He'd always made it a point to trust her judgment, but Annabeth knew this was out of character for her, and that alone would be enough to concern him.

Worse, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to explain the extent of her and Perseus's relationship without revealing the more volatile secrets. Everything would have to stay hidden, at least for now.

She drew her eyes back to his, which had been watching her with amusement. She suddenly realized she had been staring blankly out into space.

"Have your calculations yielded any conclusions?" he asked. He was mostly teasing, but she answered his question anyway.

"The fact that you're right," she said, reluctantly pulling herself off his lap, "We should go."

"Being right has never been less gratifying," he sighed.

The sun was nearly gone by the time they reached the deck. They'd missed the bulk of the sunset, but the sky was still lit up in fading shades of pinks and blues, the stars just barely starting to appear overhead.

Piper and Jason were the only ones left on the deck, quietly talking at the bow. They left easily though, relieved to be able to take their turn to sleep. Annabeth both felt bad that they were exhausted, and was relieved by the fact that Piper especially was too tired to be suspicious of how long Perseus had taken in rousing Annabeth.

Annabeth and Perseus watched the moon rise and stars prickle into view in a comfortable silence, letting the night air wash over them. With a start Annabeth realized the journey part of their quest was almost over— they would reach Athens right as their deadline approached, in barely more than a day. This might be one of the last times she and Perseus would be alone together before they faced whatever was waiting for them in the ancient city.

He was studying the stars, his well defined arms leaning against the railing of the ship, wind ruffling his dark hair. He really did look like a god, but Annabeth found herself drawn to his imperfections tonight. The new scar on his cheek, which was now nothing more than a thin white line, barely perceptible unless it caught the moonlight. The slight circles under his eyes, the calluses on his hands. Every little flaw was a reminder of his humanity, the mortal half of him that was still something of a mystery to her, even with everything that connected them.

He seemed so lost in thought he didn't even notice her staring at him, which felt unusual.

"What are you thinking about?" Annabeth asked, not able to handle the mystery of him any longer. He turned towards her, one side of his mouth turned up in a lopsided smile.

"You stole my line."

"You look very pensive tonight," Annabeth said, smiling in her own defense, "I'm curious."

"You'll think it's foolish," he warned, though his teasing expression hadn't changed.

"I won't," Annabeth said. Privately, maybe, but she could keep that to herself. She was sure he knew that, because his smile only widened.

"I was thinking about the streak in the sky. Wondering how it got there."

"Really?" Annabeth asked, craning her neck upwards. The familiar long white trail of stars was cutting a path right above their heads.

"Really," he confirmed.

"Come here," Annabeth said, suddenly struck with inspiration. She grabbed his hand and he followed easily. She led him to the center of the deck, the part with the best view away from the mast and laid down, flat on her back.

"We're supposed to be on watch," he reminded her, watching her with amusement.

"Well, you can sense the sea, can't you?" Annabeth asked. The deck was more comfortable than she'd anticipated, and she could see all the stars. She could also see Perseus still standing over her, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"I can."

"Then the only other place a threat could come from is the sky," Annabeth said, smug in her logic, "So really, this is the ideal position to keep watch from."

"You really are wisdom's daughter," Perseus said, half-joking, but relenting and lying down next to her anyway.

Annabeth felt her cheeks warm at his comment, not unpleasantly so. There was something deeply affirming in the casual way he said it. Maybe later she could get caught up in that thought, but now she wanted to focus.

"Do you know how the gods came to be?" Annabeth asked. They were both looking up at the stars, but she still saw the slight shake of his head.

"Not really. Just that they were born from titans."

"Kronos and Rhea," Annabeth supplied. She knew the Roman names, but the Greek ones came more easily for some reason, felt more fitting.

"And he ate them," Perseus remembered, "But what does this have to do with the streak?"

Annabeth couldn't help but laugh a little at his impatience. He didn't seem to mind, but then, he never did.

"I'm getting there," she chided, "You're right, he ate all his children, except for Zeus. Rhea hid him away and replaced him with a rock."

"And that worked?" Perseus asked. She knew he was playing up his disbelief to make her laugh again, and he succeeded. She swallowed down another giggle before continuing.

"It almost didn't. Kronos told Rhea to nurse Zeus one more time before he ate the baby. But she'd already replaced him with the rock."

"You can't nurse a rock."

"No, you can't. But she had to pretend anyways, or he would figure out she'd deceived him. So she pretended to feed the rock, but the milk had nowhere to go, and spilled across the sky. And that's how we got the streak. It's called the river of milk."

"And Kronos never noticed?"

"No, not in time, anyways. He swallowed the rock thinking it was the baby. When Zeus was grown he returned, freed the other gods and together they sliced up Kronos, and poured his remains Tartarus."

"He deserved it, if he was evil enough to eat his own children," Perseus said eyebrows knit together in a frown. Annabeth couldn't say she disagreed with his assessment, but . A cold breeze swept over the deck, and Annabeth gave a small shiver.

"It was his own fault, in a way," Annabeth said, "He only ate them because he thought they would take over his power from him, but if he hadn't eaten them then they might not have been mad enough to kill him."

"I guess we're lucky our parents didn't eat us," Perseus said, giving her a slight nudge, just to let her know he was joking.

"I think that would imply that they considered us a threat," Annabeth said, trying not to laugh.

"Okay, fine, maybe not us puny mortals. But their other…"

He trailed off. Annabeth felt him tense next to her, watched something flash across his expression.

"Gods, I'm an idiot," he said finally, running a hand through his dark hair, "The storm. It was my sister."

Annabeth almost sat up in surprise.

"You have a sister?"

"Yes— I mean, I have a real sister, but I meant Kymopoleia— She's my father's child, a minor goddess. She controls seastorms, especially violent ones."

Some part of Annabeth desperately wanted to know what he meant by "real sister," but the more focused part of her mind was already starting to piece together what he had realized. Maybe they weren't threats to their parents— not alone, anyways— but they were also not the only children of the gods who could be swayed to one side or another.

"The voice was trying to get Hecate to join him too," she said, "Does that mean—?"

"It would make sense. If the voice is collecting demigods, why not minor gods as well?"

"Gods," Annabeth muttered, covering her face with her hands, "What are we going to do?"

"Hope that it hasn't succeeded in recruiting anyone beyond my idiot half-siblings?" Perseus suggested. Annabeth knew he was joking, trying to lighten the mood, but dread was already starting to settle in her stomach.

"That's a terrible plan," Annabeth said, unable to summon even an ounce of humor to soften the blow.

"We'll tell everyone else tomorrow," Perseus promised, "But there's nothing we can do right now."

Annabeth knew he was right, but that didn't make her feel any better about it. There were so many minor gods, all controlling such specific domains. It would be impossible to try and plan against them.

Thankfully, she had another distraction waiting.

"What did you mean by saying you had a real sister?"

His worried expression softened, coming much closer to the adoring gaze Annabeth knew so well.

"Estelle. My mother married after she had me, and had her. She's more my sister than any of my immortal relatives ever will be."

"How old is she?" Annabeth asked.

Perseus bit his lip, tapping his finger against the deck in concentration.

"She was so little when I left. But she must be at least six by now."

His eyes were still pointed towards the stars, but his expression looked a little unfocused, like he was thinking of something else. There was an abundance of love in his words, but there was also an undercurrent of sadness that was difficult to ignore.

Annabeth didn't know why he hadn't brought up his family before now. Maybe it had just never come up, or maybe it was just too painful to talk about, being away from them. Still, it was clearly something that was important to him that she'd known nothing about. It made her feel very aware of the fact that even though she felt like she'd known him for years, it had barely been a week since they'd met.

But that familiarity didn't come from nowhere. There was something deeper at play, a connection that was derived straight from their souls.

In some strange way, she knew everything about him and nothing at all.

She could fix that, though.

"Why did you leave?" she asked.

It took him a long time to answer, so long that Annabeth started to wonder whether she should have asked at all.

"I… it's complicated I guess," he said, finally. "Or maybe not so much. I think I just knew that my fate lay elsewhere."

"When did you go?"

"Almost five years ago."

"Would you ever go back?"

"I want to go back," he said, turning his head back to the night sky above them, "I want to go back more than anything."

From the way his voice nearly wavered, Annabeth had a good idea as to why he'd looked away. She turned her gaze upwards too, though she settled herself a little closer to him.

"What's stopping you?"

"Right now? This quest."

"But beyond the quest," Annabeth pressed, "You haven't been on this quest for five years."

He sighed, his shoulders sinking with the exhale.

"I guess I never felt like I had found what I was looking for. My fate, or my destiny, or whatever you want to call it. I did quests, I killed monsters. But none of it felt like it meant something."

Annabeth felt very aware of his use of the past tense, of the way his eyes seemed to be deliberately not looking at her.

"And now?" she asked, voice so quiet even she could barely hear it. He glanced over towards her, the corner of his mouth turning up almost imperceptibly.

"Now I think I might've found some meaning," he said, voice light and just a touch teasing.

"Oh, you might've?" Annabeth said, biting her lower lip to keep from smiling.

"Just maybe," he said, turning towards the sky again so she wouldn't see the wide grin spread across his features. She hated to ruin it, but she also knew that she would spend every waking second wondering if she didn't ask now.

"Does that mean you can go back now?"

As she predicted, the grin slid off his face. He at least didn't look sad again. More pensive, like he'd been earlier.

"I don't know," he admitted, "I guess it depends."

"On what?" Annabeth asked, against her better judgement.

"On if we survive, first of all. If we finish the quest. And I… it depends what you want, too."

Annabeth had been half-expecting that answer, but her heart picked up speed anyways.

In all honesty, she hadn't given much thought to the future of them beyond the quest. Right now they were in a perfect little bubble, a world of their own outside forces that would be intent to tear them apart. But once they finished, what then? She couldn't go back and pretend everything was the same as it was before, not when she'd been so irrevocably changed.

There was another option, the one he was only barely daring to suggest. She could go with him, go back to his home. Return to where she— in a strange, divine sort of way— had also come from, despite never having physically been there. Discard her old life and embrace a new one, free of judgment, free of fear of being discovered. Free to live as herself without consequence.

But despite how tempting that sounded, it came with a price; one she wasn't sure she had it in her to pay. Leaving Rome behind would mean leaving her friends behind too. She might never see Jason or Piper again if she chose to go with Perseus.

It was impossible to decide, not without more time, and not without all the variables. She was sure he knew that. And yet, still, she wanted to give him an answer, even if it wasn't an exact one.

"I want to be with you," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, soft and sad and so many other things she couldn't quite read.

"Then I'll be with you," he promised, "We don't need to know where or how right now. We can worry about that after."

Everything in her wanted to plan, to strategize, but she knew this wasn't something she could decide lightly. Besides, they might all be dead in a few days regardless. If that was going to be the case, Annabeth wanted to take in every moment she spent with him, not spend them worrying about a future that may or may not happen.

She looked back up to the night sky. They'd been talking so long that the constellations had already started to shift places, moving steadily along their pre-ordained paths.

She spotted a familiar one, not far from Perseus's own.

"There's your serpent," she said, pointing to a cluster of stars just below their gaze.

"Mine?" he asked, glancing over to her in confusion.

"Cetus," Annabeth said, by way of explanation, "Funny that you and your namesake fought the same monster."

"The original Perseus killed it too?" he asked, surprised.

Annabeth nodded.

"I never knew," he admitted, looking back towards the constellation. He was biting the inside of his cheek, looking just the slightest bit troubled.

"How come you don't know many Greek stories?" Annabeth asked, curiosity on the subject finally winning out. If she intended to chip away at every unknown thing about him, this was as good a place to start as any.

She felt his shoulder shift slightly against hers, shrugging.

"My home… We haven't had a lot of outside contact. Most of what we passed down were the legends most relevant to us. There were probably more, before, but most of them were lost over time."

There was a melancholy to his words, a sadness Annabeth found strangely familiar. A little corner of the old world had survived, but isolation had a price, and with perseverance came loss. She knew all too well the cost of concealment. How much had she lost over the years, keeping a part of herself a secret? Just that was overwhelming to think about, and she was one person, not an entire island.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It is what it is," he said, shrugging again, "Though I do like hearing you tell them."

"I'll tell you everything I know," Annabeth promised. He let his head fall over towards her, a smile breaking through his troubled expression.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"You might want to get started if you want to tell me everything. We only have eight hours 'till sunrise."

She swatted his chest, feeling his laughter under her hand.

"If you tease me you'll get nothing," she warned, but it was an empty threat, and he knew it as well as she did.

"How do you know so much?" he asked, his smile already fading away. His hand curled around her own that she had left on his chest.

Annabeth hesitated.

He had already asked her this the other night, and she had… not lied about it, but not told the entire truth either. If he was asking again, that meant that on some level, he'd known she hadn't been telling the entire story. The way he was looking at her now though, in a rare moment without humor, she couldn't bring herself to refuse him a true answer.

And she had promised him she would tell him about her dream. If she was going to keep her word on that, now was the time.

"When I was… younger, I had…" Annabeth faltered. How could she possibly describe Luke in a single word? To call him a friend seemed too shallow, a brother not quite accurate either. A parent? But he had still been a child himself. Perseus just waited patiently, still holding her hand on his chest.

"A friend," she decided, even though the word felt sticky on her tongue, "His name was Luke."

She felt his fingers tighten ever so slightly around her own. He had probably already committed that name to memory, given how she'd reacted when Chyrsaor had said it.

There was so much to say, so much to explain. Compressing three years of life and love and betrayal and heartbreak into a single explanation or conversation or even just in words felt impossible. She looked over at him, stricken into silence by her own overwhelming anxiety. He understood, at least Annabeth thought so, by the way he looked back at her; completely lacking in judgement.

"Start at the beginning," he suggested.

So she did.

The words came a little easier after that first memory of Luke giving her her knife, promising her that they would be family, but speaking still felt like an enormous effort. She skipped most of the middle, only highlighting events that felt necessary for him to know— learning how to fight with her knife, him teaching her how to play dice, a particularly bad monster attack that had nearly killed them both. The stories he'd told her, illustrated by patterns in the stars above.

Perseus was a good listener, but she'd already known that. He took in every last word, smiling and laughing at the appropriate times, frowning at others.

There was more she could say, a hundred ordinary and extraordinary days she could spin stories out of. But if she stalled any longer, she would never reach the ending.

So she started at the beginning, again. Only this time, it was the beginning of the end.

She told him about how Luke's behavior started to change: the way he started speaking to himself, sleeping less, moving them around more. How it all culminated in him leaving Annabeth in an alleyway, and her waiting for three days for him to come back before realizing he was really, truly gone.

Perseus was silent for a long time once she finished. She could feel his heartbeat under her hand. It had picked up in the past few minutes, abandoning its usual steady pace for something quicker, more anxious.

"He just left you there?" he asked. His voice sounded raw, upset. Annabeth could feel his gaze on her, but she'd turned her eyes back towards the stars a long while ago, and she didn't know if she had the strength to look back.

"It was more complicated than that," she said. She couldn't see his expression, but she had a feeling he was not convinced. She'd omitted the story about Mercury, not sure how to include it in the sequence of events when she'd experienced it two different ways, but now she was wishing she had just said it outright.

"How?" he asked, and there it was, the very clear lack of conviction.

She wished he wouldn't, wished he would just take her word for it. He wouldn't though, and she probably wouldn't, if the situation was reversed— not without evidence, at least.

"I— In my dream, last night, I saw him."

"You said they were memories," he said, voice not quite accusatory, but right on the edge.

"They were," Annabeth said, "Just not mine."

He didn't say anything, just waited for her to explain. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. But she told him anyway, recounted every ounce of the conversation that she could remember. He was quiet this time. If she hadn't still been holding his hand, she might've doubted that he was next to her at all.

"So he left you for the voice," Perseus said, as soon as it was clear that she had finished. Annabeth felt a spike of anxiety in her stomach. She had figured that out fairly immediately, but some small part of her was hoping that he wouldn't put the pieces together as quickly as she had, if at all.

Annabeth sat up, suddenly feeling nauseous. He followed her, letting their hands fall off his chest onto the deck.

"I think so," Annabeth said, quietly. Now that they weren't lying flat anymore she noticed the wind was starting to pick up, strong and cold, cutting through the otherwise balmy summer air. She drew her knees up to her chest.

"And he'll be there. In Athens."

"Probably."

She didn't like how hardened his expression had become. She supposed she should have expected this reaction— she had expected this reaction, but she'd hoped she would've been wrong. It wasn't even that he was mad at her, he was mad at Luke on her behalf.

It wasn't not justified, but Annabeth hated it anyway. She'd always been good at compartmentalizing Luke, keeping the good memories and the bad separate, as if they were two different people. Now knowing what she did about why he left, that seemed even more justified, even more necessary. But Perseus didn't see that. He just mixed everything up together, ignored everything good Luke had ever been to her, and came out with this distorted, monstrous image of him.

"He's not bad," Annabeth said, feeling very aware of the fact that she sounded pathetic and worse, that he didn't believe her.

"Annabeth, he's working with the voice," Perseus said, his voice a very unwavering, very forced calm tone, "He sent Chrysaor after us. He knew what Chrysaor wanted to do to you, and he sent him anyway."

"Luke told him not to, though," Annabeth countered. It was her one defense, sloppy as it was, but she would cling onto it if she had to. He was still protecting her, even now.

"Did Luke tell him not to kill Jason and Piper and everyone else but us?" Perseus asked, and that was a low blow, though not the lowest he could have dealt, somehow.

"I don't know," Annabeth said, frustrated now, "It was the voice who wanted that, all he said about Luke was about keeping us alive."

"And that other comment," Perseus said, unrelenting. She almost didn't realize what he was talking about, until he followed up, probably based on her confused expression. "The last time he saw you you were twelve, why would he say something like that?"

Luke said you were beautiful, of course.

Annabeth had barely thought of that since, far too stunned about hearing Luke's name again to even consider the underlying meaning of that statement. The way Perseus said it though, the disgust in his voice, suddenly brought a whole host of implications forthright.

Annabeth pushed them away immediately. That accusation felt a little too derived, a little too much like Perseus was just trying to dig up a reason to hate Luke. Luke had never acted like that towards her, not ever. He'd practically begged Mercury to tell them that they were siblings for gods' sake.

Annabeth pulled her hand away. He let it go far too easily.

"Chrysaor was lying, then, or maybe he saw me in a dream. It doesn't matter," she said, her voice stronger than it had been before.

"Well if he was lying about that then who's to say he wasn't lying about Luke trying to protect you either?" Perseus asked, exasperated.

"Because Luke wouldn't do that! There wouldn't be a reason to lie!" Annabeth exclaimed, standing up. He followed her up easily. Annabeth had never felt more aware of the fact that he was taller than her. She'd never resented it before, but she found herself angry at it now, despite the fact that it was beyond either of their control.

"Wouldn't there?" he said, sounding just as angry and frustrated as she felt, "He sacrificed you for his own greater good once, who's to say he won't do it again?"

"He knew I would be safe, though," Annabeth pleaded, "He made sure of it."

Perseus was already shaking his head. "But he would have left anyway. He as good as said so."

"Because he thought he was doing the right thing! There was something wrong with him, it wasn't—"

"Don't say it wasn't his fault." Perseus said, and suddenly his voice was low and angry in a way that made Annabeth feel sick.

"He was being manipulated," Annabeth said, hating how shaky her own voice sounded, "He was barely nineteen and had a mountain of responsibility and—"

"Don't. Don't do that either, don't blame yourself for what he did—"

"Don't tell me what to do," Annabeth snapped, even as his words were reeling around in her head, threatening to spin out of control. The wind seemed to be matching her emotions, whistling over the deck in a powerful rush.

Too powerful a rush.

An unnatural rush.

Perseus realized their mistake at exactly the same moment she did, but it was still too late. Before she could even blink, something powerful slammed into him, tossing him halfway across the deck. He hit the mast with a sickening crunch.

Annabeth barely had time to scream before she was engulfed by a mass of wind and lightning and rain, her feet leaving the deck in a violent blast of air. Her stomach dropped out as she fell and kept falling, until she hit the ocean with one final, resolved crash.