Long were the nights when my days once revolved around Luke Castellan.

He had promised that we'd always be family. You promised. I should have known.

At age twelve, too thin and too lanky in my orange camp t-shirt, my dagger still too big for me, I would smooth my curls back to no avail—between sweating in the training yard and the humidity during the summers at Camp Half-Blood, my appearance could hardly be improved by any last-minute preening on my part. Luke, son of Hermes, would walk past, but I might as well have been wearing my invisible cap for all the notice of he took of me. Grover would shuffle his hooves nervously, and Percy would watch from the corner of his eye, choosing for once in his life to be perceptive at this moment. Maybe it was me and my blind optimism to blame, but when Luke had said that we'd be like family, when he promised… I had believed him. But the crushing blow had come all the same at the end of that summer, and Luke's status as a double agent had betrayed me three times over; once as a half-blood, another as the member of our family, and lastly as the girl who loved him. Don't you think I was too young to be messed with, to be played by your dark twisted games when I loved you so?

At thirteen I defended him. I defended Luke as he actively worked to destroy everything that we had held dear all those years, where our family had found its home. I should have known. Despite the multiple attempts on my life— not to mention my friends' lives—I justified his actions, over and over. Sailing toward the siren's and their haunting song, jump jump jump, I saw his face over and over. Like family, like family, like family. You are my family, Annabeth. I thought I could get him back, I thought that he would return to me. My tired lifeless eyes looked into his in the mist of seawater and siren song, and I let him run me dry again. Percy says he can go to hell, as far as he's concerned, Grover whispered to me late one night after returning to camp that summer. Percy doesn't know Luke like we do. Like I do, I replied, as confidently as I could sound. I look back in regret that I didn't run as fast as I could.

When I was fourteen, I took Luke's place on Mount Tam. I took the sky from him, literally lifting the weight of the world off of his back, his pleas tearing away at every piece of my heart. Two palms up, unsurmountable pain, crushing me, crushing my body, Atlas' burden resting on the shoulders of a teenage girl barely strong enough to swing a full sword. I looked up to see Luke's back, walking away. To give love, and then take it away? I was a pawn to him, living in his chess game, a thing to be bargained and sacrificed and used. He was an expert at sorry and keeping lines blurry, a master of manipulation, so clever and cunning with his deceit that even the daughter of Athena could not outsmart him in time. Artemis took the sky from me, Luke tied my hands behind my back, and I was so angry with myself that I was surprised again by Luke's betrayal. And then… Percy took the sky from Artemis, no questions asked. He can barely hold it any better than I can, but his face is that of a hero, a solider prepared to take on his challenge. Luke's face is shrouded in shadows, dark and empty; Percy's shines like fireworks.

I was fifteen, and Luke came to San Francisco to ask me to run away with him. Would things be different if I had done him that favor, trusted him once more? Would he have survived, would the Titan War had even happened? But he had exhausted every bit of mercy and forgiveness that I was capable of. And then his wrecked body, standing before me in the labyrinth, glowing as he became Kronos' host, gleaming in a way that suggested the most unsustainable of arrangements. To lose a love to worse than death.

And then, on Mount Olympus, at the very end. Luke Castellan, son of Hermes, host of Kronos, liar and betrayer, brother and friend. I was used to the feeling of being disarmed around Luke, as each time he walked into a room I'd felt as if the wind was knocked out of me. This was different though- never had I been so literally defenseless, being held at sword point by the boy who I loved.

Except I didn't love him, not anymore. I had loved the idea of family and all that Luke had come to represent to me over the years, but the person who made me feel at home was Percy Jackson.

"Family, Luke," I plead, bracing myself for impact. "You promised."

The son of Hermes died. I wept for him, but I wept more for myself and all that I had lost at his hands. I had lost a love, a brother, a home.

But the thing about home is that you can always build and re-built them. Trust me, I'm an architect—I'd know.

And rebuild I did. With Percy.

I wake up in the middle of the night often. Percy and I both do—between trekking through the underworld, a slew of near-death experiences, and being perpetually stalked by monsters, we are stocked on nightmare for life. Sometimes I wake after dreams of holding Mount Tam, other dreams take me to the darkest corners of the labyrinth. But the one I dread most is staring at Luke's sword tip, looking into the eyes of Kronos, and finally waking to think I should have known…

"Bad dream?" Percy whispers into the darkness.

"Yeah," I say in a small voice, hoping I didn't wake him.

"Talk about it?" he asks, offering me the space if I want it. I don't want to tell him that I dream of Luke as often as I do, I don't want him to think that I was pining over someone else.

"Why are you awake?" I ask, instead of answering.

"Bad dream," says Percy, and I can hear him smiling sadly in the dark.

I smile too. "Talk about it?" I ask.

"The same dream it always is," he replies. "Losing you."

"You could never lose me," I whisper.

"Promise?"

"Promise," I say, snuggling up under his arm. And, knowing the damage a broken promise can do, I fully intend on keeping mine.