A/N: Sigh. I'm so disappointed in some of these scenes; there was a lot I wanted to fix, but I just haven't got the fucking time. I didn't even get to Drew's subplot in this chapter, or the Thasite part of the quest ;-;

Me: Highly frustrated with an author for not updating their story in like a year

Also me: Takes forever to update my own damn story

Disclaimer: All rights remain.

Annabeth

Surprisingly, there'd been no mishaps during the trip. They'd taken a Canadian jet to right outside of Epresh, and then traveled on foot into her old country in order to avoid attention.

Of course, that just made the blonde more paranoid. If nothing had gone wrong so far, then something was bound to happen soon. She could quite honestly say she wasn't looking forward to it.

Despite the unspoken anxiety lingering in the air, the jet-ride had been rather entertaining. Piper, Annabeth had found out, wasn't so bad.

The brunette was a quiet sort of funny, occasionally interjecting sassy humor. She was sweet, offering to talk with Annabeth after noticing the blonde's heightened anxiety, and though Annabeth had turned her down, it was nice of her to notice. She was sharp with emotions and social cues, almost like she had a sixth sense with people and matters of the head and heart.

Rachel was loud. She was outgoing, extroverted, and bubbly. She told bad puns, sharpened her knives casually, sketched pictures of the jet, and even managed to convince Piper to pose for a bit because Rayas were beautiful.

Hazel was the softest-spoken of them all, but she was badass, Annabeth discovered. The gold-eyed girl retold military stories, and gushed about Frank Zhang, her activist boyfriend. Rachel had only bolstered her claims that Frank was one of the most innocent, kind-hearted people to ever exist. Needless to say, Annabeth was intrigued by his existence, eager to meet him if she made it out alive of this mission. Hazel had this whole old soul thing going for her. She was probably the most terrified of going up in the jet, or what she referred to as a 'death rocket.' It was entertaining, in a pathetic sort of way. Kind of like Annabeth's whole life.

But the Princess couldn't shake the feeling that everything was about to go south quickly, which meant this called for a plan. Fortunately, the blonde was very familiar with those. Commanding the team with her quick-wit and strategic mind, Annabeth drew plenty of maps and designs for her fellow warriors. And then, it was into battle. No going back, no hesitating, no messing this up.

…

The plan was simple to achieve a simple objective. Grab Annabeth's large stash of gold in her old room to use for furthering the Amazon/Canada purpose. Scoop up her box of maps with Queen Athena's notes in the margins from the trunk she'd hid in cellar years ago. Lastly, and probably the most difficult to pull off, rearrange the pins on the strategy board near Malcolm's chambers to throw the Ashingtons off their scent.

Not only was it going to be difficult because of sheer proximity to where her brother stayed, but it was an internal battle for Annabeth. It was the most direct sabotage, and even though she knew it was necessary (the Ashingtons were the smartest; they would surely be the closest to destroying their bases), it was a question of morals and loyalty.

There were four of them, and three tasks. It was only logical to split up. And Annabeth knew that in every horror film, splitting up ended in casualties, but she knew it was the only way to get in and out efficiently.

Piper had been sent to raid her room for valuable items. The Raya Princess was an expert in all things fashion and value, and selling. If anyone could sniff out worth out of the most ordinary of items, it was none other than her. Annabeth might have passed off her off a gold digger before, but after all their talking, she had formed a new respect for the youngest sister of her bloodline. Even though she'd never admit it unless there was a gun held to her head, Annabeth could reluctantly acknowledge that out of all the girls, she felt the closest to Piper. There was just this mutual understanding that Annabeth hadn't even known she'd been longing for.

Hazel was given clear instructions on how to search for Annabeth's war strategy chest. She had been sent down into the cellar, scouring the dark prison for a cleverly-concealed and booby-trapped trunk. With her military experience, she was handy with detonating bombs and had an eye for night-vision and spotting danger before it was obvious.

That left Rachel and Annabeth, herself, to complete the hardest task of them all. Only Annabeth would know how to move the pins around in a manner that was just subtle enough nobody questioned it, but enough to foil her family's chance of overthrowing her rebellion. She was a master of how their minds worked. After all, she was one of them. With her precise knowledge and Rachel's hawk eyes, they could pull it off together.

But she couldn't get ahead of herself; she couldn't cocky. Arrogance was only a long way down and hubris was her fatal flaw.

Piper set her face in a grim expression, brushing her fingers across the blonde's forearm in reassurance before sweeping past her in a flurry of sweet-scented roses.

…

Annabeth squinted from her position, frowning at the red dot down the corridor. At the door, her partner in crime stood guard, her jaw set and her bright green eyes narrowed.

'Up,' the blonde mouthed, flicking her wrist to swiftly slide her hood over her head. Unlike Piper and Hazel, she was not graced with dark hair— an easily concealable feature. She supposed she shouldn't have felt so bitter about it; Rachel had it distinctly worse, what with a figurative flame for hair.

Annabeth hugged the side of her wall, the baby hairs on the back of her neck standing up, and chills running across her body, dancing on the surface of her skin like little spiders. She shivered. She resisted the urge to look back at Rachel once more— her loyal sidekick was not going anywhere. She could not allow her paranoia to eat away at her sensibility because this entire mission was counting on her. If she failed… no. That could mean the beheadment of her comrades, or even worse. She would not make the mistake of underestimating her family's creativity. Those big brains were useful for more than mathematical mysteries and sophisticated strategies.

Her heart pounded in her chest, like a dull metronome.

With lightning quick fingers, Annabeth switched a few pins, moving three silver pins a few millimeters to the left, and the one in the middle, the one closest to one of the Amazon bases, half an inch up. Behind her, she heard shuffling. The blonde spun around, letting out a loose breath to realize it was only Rachel.

"Piper just came back," Rachel informed her.

"She's done already?" Annabeth cocked an eyebrow. Piper may have been good, but there was no way she was thorough if she was already finished.

"Of course not," the redhead whispered, her eyes darting around the room, back and forth between the Ashington staple and the large, mahogany doors. "Hazel needs help. She surveyed the grounds; there's too many guards. If we want to keep everyone quiet, she's going to need someone to watch her back."

Annabeth chewed her bottom lip, trying to make a difficult decision. She knew her escape routes well enough, she knew where to hide should someone seek her out.

"Go help her," Annabeth hissed back.

"Are you sure?" Rachel's eyes went wide as saucers.

"Yes. Hurry," she urged. "I'll be fine."

"Watch your back, Chase." She looked both ways before darting out of the war room soundlessly, like a mouse. Annabeth was startled by the use of her middle name. Only Percy ever referred to her as that.

Annabeth didn't bother with theatrical goodbye bids, and mouthing sentimentality of good-lucks, though Rachel wouldn't hear it, like the main protagonists of all her books. She turned back to the large map spread across the table in front of her, moving pawns over a bit to the left and up enough that it threw her off, but not so much that she'd be able to tell with one glance.

She slid past the table, stalking the other maps with curiosity. Athena had certainly been busy. The woman was right on her heel. Her anxiety levels skyrocketed as she reached for a map behind the table, carefully framed. Behind it were the keys to the other locked up materials under the table's secret compartment. She was tall, but she'd never been quite able to—

"Don't move."

Annabeth's breath hitched, her pulse racing like a matador. It was her worst fears coming true.

The unmistakable, faint scratch of metal on metal behind her sent goosebumps down her arms. Move and be pierced by a blade of her own blood, wonderful. Dimly, she wondered if death was better than being interrogated for her secrets, but no, those three other girls, they fucking needed her. She refused to abandon them, especially when they probably were still under the radar, yet to be discovered. If only she hadn't been caught, perhaps this would've gone faster.

The blonde swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Turn around, slowly. Hands in the air," the intruder demanded.

"I can't do that," she said, her voice purposefully distorted and gruff. Of course, it was no use. He would know her anywhere, from the sound of a voice she'd faked, to the shape of her fingernails, to her silhouette, to her scent, no matter how carefully disguised.

"Are you fucking serious?"

There was so much hurt in his voice, a notion of madness, and suffering, that something in her shattered because of course she'd been feeling the same. Of course a half of her was always missing, so far away from home. Home was where the heart was, and though hers was admittedly small, he was all she'd ever had.

She turned around in defeat, throwing her hood back seeing as it was now entirely useless. Dumb cover getting stupidly blown.

"It's been a while, big brother."

Percy

"For a girl who claims to hate me so much, you sure do approach me a lot."

Thalia glared him down, but Percy remained stoic, and very much unfazed, much to the Amazonian's frustration.

"You're insufferable," she spat.

"I think I like Jason better. Very polite," Percy commented, nodding to himself. Perhaps he was enjoying this too much. Unfortunately, nobody was here to chastise him.

"Perseus, stop trying to rile up my Lieutenant." Reyna let out a heavy sigh, picking at her food, and showing no interest in Thalia and Percy's daily bickering. "Your quarrels are giving everyone a headache."

"It's hardly my fault she's unpleasant," the dark-haired boy argued, and Reyna paid him no attention.

"That's rich coming from you." Thalia began sharpening her blade again. Weirdly, with Reyna here, he didn't feel very threatened. Reyna seemed much too diplomatic and level-headed to allow breakfast stabbing. Thalia, on the other hand, had no manners, clearly.

"I can't believe you let him sit with us," she muttered under her breath, and Reyna gave her a long look, one Percy fucking reveled in. Getting Thalia in trouble was so much fun, though if a gun was held to his head, he'd have to admit pissing her off was even better.

"Everyone's wary of him, Thalia, you already know this. To promote a more peaceful environment, I thought he'd be better suited here. Obviously, I now see my error." Reyna pinched the bridge of her nose and Percy felt a pang of sympathy for her. The girl was obviously under a lot of stress, and his and Thalia's childishness probably wasn't making it any easier. Too bad he was bored of hiding out in his cramped bedroom and avoiding these people. It was hardly his fault people were terrified of him. He hadn't even done anything. Yet.

Thalia shot him a dirty look, and Percy smirked in return, because he was, like, so mature. "Stop acting all high and mighty now that your little blonde babe isn't here to boss you around."

Percy's smirk dropped. "That's not true. Plus, I would never call her that. That's disgusting." He sniffed, indignant.

"Oh please, everyone knows you're her little toy. Her personal servant. And you live to please." Thalia sneered.

"Says the girl trailing after Reyna all day like a fucking dog."

"Two wrongs don't make a right," Thalia fired back.

Percy casually plucked at his food, examining it closely. "Perhaps that should be the Amazon motto."

Thalia slammed her weapon on the table, standing up. "Oh, that's it, you little-"

"Thalia!" Reyna stood up, and the entire table fell silent. "I've had it with both of you. You're acting like children and I am far from a babysitter. You're both old enough to settle this a better way. Take this drama to the arena. I don't want to hear from either of you two unless someone's dead." The General sternly pointed to the building across the field, in front of the bend in the stream.

Almost simultaneously, Percy and Thalia turned to look at each other. Turns out that royals weren't the only ones who went to the training arena to settle arguments. He still remembered taking on two, three opponents at a time, the instructor, Zeus, only finding it harder and harder to make it challenging for him. But he also remembered Drew viciously turning Annabeth to ribbons with no remorse. Thalia may have had all the street cred she wanted, and she might've been quick like a thief, and slick like a criminal, but Percy not only explored the downtrodden alleys of Thasite growing up, but he'd trained for his position, and hard. All that blood, sweat, and tears? It was all his, and he was proud of his scars.

"Are you sure?" he challenged, looking down at the smaller girl. Thalia was short, indeed. Percy's theory was that she was closer to Satan, so that's why she was so angry all the time. Thalia hadn't found it funny, obviously.

She drew her blade out long and grinned wickedly.

"Are you?"

Annabeth

"Why would you ever come back?" And why would you ever leave? The implied question hung in the air like a dark cloud hovering above her head. " How dare you come back?" Malcolm's voice was steady. He had never been one to tremble, not even in the tensest of situations. He would've made a good surgeon.

Quick as a rabbit, Annabeth twirled her trusty dagger between her fingers, effortlessly sliding the grip out of the folds of her armor and into the comfortable touch of her fingers.

"I missed you, too." She smiled, but it didn't meet her eyes. It physically hurt her.

"Don't bother playing mind games with me, Annabeth. You know I always win."

Her fake smile dropped immediately.

It was true: for all she tried, and though Malcolm was and would always be the more genuine of the siblings, he was also a better liar, something that had never helped when they were younger.

Not to mention, Athena was rather partial to her son in the first place. Needless to say, Malcolm had won a lot of childish battles as they grew up with nothing more than his quick tongue and sharp mind. Oh, and Annabeth had suffered the repercussions, naturally.

Annabeth's blood ran cold at the sight of his knife, one she had trained alongside for so long. She'd never imagined she would one day be at the opposite end.

It had always been a possibility. All was fair in war, but for it to come true? It was too much for her. And for him, too. She could see it in the miniscule shift of his features, in the way the worry lines around his eyes had deepened, in the way his back was held up all rigid, in the way his knuckles had turned white on the hilt of his dagger, and in the way his thumb traced circles around the blade, a nervous tick of his he'd never quite grown out of. She was sure he, too, was reading her like a book.

"You know, on some level, I always knew it would come down to this," said Malcolm, mournfully. "I was hoping it wouldn't be so soon."

"Hope is for suckers," she breathed, circling around him like a prey and a predator, only— this time, she suspected she was the prey. Malcolm would easily be able to beat her now, not like when they were younger and engaging in a much more fair fight. He was more collected, but he also followed her in suit, circling in a weird dance between life and death. She'd always been good at cheating death, but she was positive she was pressing her luck at this point.

"I agree." He licked his lips, thoughtful. "I can't believe you picked a Calbourne over us."

Annabeth winced, only to flare up with anger. "Percy and I just tried to escape the clutches of a Boy King, nothing more, nothing less."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "So you guys are on a first-name basis now? That's new."

She scowled.

"And besides, I wasn't talking about Perseus." Malcolm's eyes glittered.

Annabeth flinched, the image of the Boy King, her first love, or so she'd thought, spinning in her mind. Her stomach churned. A piece of her would always be with him, and him with her. In all honesty, she would've preferred the dagger to the heart; at least the death would've been short and quick.

"That's a low blow and you know it." She glared.

"Only because it's true," her brother reasoned. "And to think, you have the brain and blood of Athena, herself. I would've thought you would know how to use it better than this. I'm assuming you're not here alone? Perhaps… three other girls? Or boys, I suppose, seeing as you now frolic with the Canadians as well. Four has always been the most supreme questing group number."

Annabeth's face felt hot, giving him the answer he already knew.

"So predictable. You'd already drowned our family's name, dug up the grave, and then buried it too, and now this? I feel the secondhand embarrassment," Malcolm taunted. It stung more than she would've liked to admit, but coming from him, it was worse than any gun.

Perhaps because she'd always viewed him as an eternal force, a protective brother, she'd never truly appreciated how dangerous Malcolm was. As terrifying as Percy could get, she was beginning to rethink her opinion that Percy was the scariest of them all. To stand in front of someone, on a side she never thought she'd be, and to see a knife precisely spun in a way she'd only ever seen him before going in for the kill, it was infinitely more horrifying to imagine the blade of her blood sinking into her heart. And yet, it was also comforting to know that her last breath could be by the one she'd first been held by, with the exception of her mother, of course.

As if he could read her mind, he shook his head at her. "You were so small in my small arms," he whispered. "Athena says you were instantly my favorite thing ever. I followed you everywhere, determinedly had the staff baby-proof the castle, kept you out of the gardens and weapon rooms, gave you Luxembourg's chocolate, your weakness, when you hit your head on the armrest of father's throne and cried."

Malcolm's face softened fractionally. "Remember when I blamed the pile of dishes that crashed down, shattering into millions of pieces on you?" He grinned. Unfortunately, his reminder of good times was contagious.

A reluctant smile flitted at the corners of the blonde's lips. "I was so mad."

"You were," he agreed. "But then you learned you had to be quicker than that to talk your way out of something. And the next time, you got so much closer to out-talking me. Close, but no cigar." Malcolm laughed, a familiar twinkle in his eyes. It was as bright as the dagger in his hand. Annabeth's heart throbbed.

"I saw you redecorated the training arena. The weapon's rack is looking a little bare," Annabeth mentioned. She'd passed it earlier.

"I did," Malcolm agreed. "Not a fan?"

"I always liked that place stocked." She shrugged.

"Too bad it's my castle." He shrugged in return, and she had to roll her eyes.

"Your castle?"

Malcolm offered a dark grin, and Annabeth involuntarily took a step back. "My castle," he reaffirmed. "I'm the future King, and so it's my castle, my land, my people that you abandoned."

Annabeth scoffed. "As if we'll let you be future King. Your point is moot. It won't be your castle when we take over. Actually, it was never your castle. It's still mine, too." A piece of her was breaking away, the magnetic pieces inside her given to Malcolm drawing her close to him.

"It's not," he spat with defiance. "It hasn't been yours since the day you walked out on us, on me. It hasn't been yours since the day you turned your backstabbing self on everything we once stood for and spilled your spineless guts to the Amazons."

Annabeth's mouth parted in surprise. Her chest was concaving. "Spineless?"

"Blood before all," Malcolm recited a common royal moral. Annabeth clenched her fists, balling them up by her sides.

"You sound like mother." This time she was treated with the satisfaction of Malcolm flinching, though it certainly didn't make her feel any better than before.

"You sound like every other extremist," Malcolm shot back, gritting his teeth. It was a weak defense to her stabbing words, but he had taken enough shots at her that it was warranted, and he knew it as well as she did.

"Extremist or passionate advocate?" she countered, baring her teeth like a lioness. She cut her knife through the air, beginning their battle. Malcolm sidestepped, all too familiar with her style of fighting.

"Extremist," he confirmed. "You were a passionate advocate, but then you sold your soul to the devil."

"I disagree."

"I can't force you to be correct." He smirked and Annabeth was reminded all too well of their verbal jousts growing up. She felt like she couldn't breathe.

"You act so high and mighty." She fumed, channeling it into anger instead.

"Like you're any better. At least I know royals are murderers. You can't admit a single bad thing about the Amazons. You're blind. And even worse—" in under a second, Malcolm was right in front of her "—you're a pawn." She should've stabbed him. He was standing right there, but with his familiar features, his straight nose, thick eyebrows, and usually kind eyes, she was frozen in fear and reminiscence of a brother she still loved.

"I'm not!" she choked. Anything but a pawn. She was a leader of a rebellion, a path-forger, a revolutionary icon and yet… her faith in herself wavered. Malcolm had more on pull on her than she remembered.

"Keep your fucking voice down. Do you want to be caught?" he growled.

"I thought I was already!" she whisper-yelled, rocking on her tip-toes to meet his height.

Malcolm rolled his eyes sarcastically.. "I haven't killed you yet, have I? Keep your screeching down, little sister," he demanded, and she did. "And you are." He chuckled, but it was devoid of humor, so unlike him. She just wanted her brother back, but it was too late now. He was a shell of a man and she was something otherworldly, so lost from who she'd once been. With her old life, she'd thrown away her family as well. She had never felt more small, towered over by the man who had practically raised her.

"You are a pawn no matter what anyone says. You are disposable to them, you were special here, you were prominent here. There, you are used for your strategies by the vicious Queen— if only you were strong enough to admit the evils the Amazonian Queen has committed— and then you will be tossed away. They would never, ever accept a royal the same way they accept their own people. No one would. No one would choose others over their own people! It is why Luke made you blind! You showed you exactly what you wanted, he recognized that you are a fool, and naive in nature, and then you bought his ridiculous claims, believing that a royal of all people would turn his back of high status on a family of great fortune for you and your stupid, stupid half-baked plans. And you got played!"

Tears pricked at her eyes, but there was no stopping Malcolm now; he was on a roll.

Malcolm was breathing hard, his eyes rimmed red. It seemed he wasn't the only one unaffected by the tension and emotions swirling like hurricanes in this goddamned room.

"No one would turn their back on blood in this cruel and undeserving world. No one except you," he gasped, and only then did she realize a tear had slipped down her cheek, albeit quietly. Malcolm did not cry. He had lost the ability to cry for her, or so she'd assumed, stayed strong so she could afford weakness. It was pitiful.

He paused, staring her down before continuing.

"Look, I'm sorry you're not a boy."

It hit her like a train and she staggered back, stepping away from him, surprised and wounded. Did he want a brother instead? Would he have really preferred the life of an only child over a childhood with her? Was she really that awful?

"I'm sorry you want change to come quicker, and I know it takes a while with our type of blood, but it would've happened nonetheless, even if not in your lifetime. Now you just fool around and you've thrown away the best platform you ever had, carelessly. And I'm so angry at you. And I'm entitled to my anger, mind you."

Annabeth glared. "Don't talk to me like I'm a kid," she spat.

"Then don't act like one," he shot back.

Malcolm knew just how to twist the knife. "That anger in your heart warms you now but it will leave you cold in your grave." Nobody could hurt you more than someone you loved, and for a girl who loved few, it was all the more painful.

Fury burned in her core, only proving him right. In a split-second decision, she held the dagger to his throat and for once, Malcolm stopped. With a flick of his wrist, his dagger fell to the ground.

"Go ahead," he rasped. "Kill me. If it's you or me," he paused, "then let it be me. Let me do this for you," he whispered. Her hand trembled, hovering over the smooth flesh of his neck, unmarred and innocent.

"Why would you ever let me do that?" she angrily demanded. "Why, when I've been so awful to you and your family," he was right that it was no longer hers, "why would you still offer your own self for my crimes? Why are you so… so good all the time?" She was beyond frustrated by her brother's faultnesses.

Malcolm dropped to his knees. A royal would never fall to their knees; they would die standing. He had given himself over to her completely. "Because I failed you. Because if I had done well, we wouldn't be here in the first place. And a world in which you and I are divided, a world in which I am responsible for the loss of your presence is a world I don't want to live in," he answered, candidly. He looked up at her with glossy grey eyes.

Annabeth furiously wiped tears away from her eyes. "You didn't fail me. I failed you. You gave me everything, you threw away so much for me. And I repaid you by leaving. I'm… I'm sorry, Malcolm."

"That means nothing to me," he murmured.

Annabeth's face screwed up. "Then what must I say?"

"You can't say anything," he concluded. "This isn't the sister I grew up with, this isn't the girl I taught to do archery, this isn't the sibling I brought to the stables to brush ponies of all things in the middle of the night, this isn't kid I bought a drawing pad for, or architectural model materials for. She's gone and replaced by this… version of you I don't recognize. The Annabeth I know would have never turned her back on family like this, she was much too loyal, she wouldn't be as reckless, nor as childish. To die by your hand would mean nothing to me, as does this conversation." He was lying, and not well for once. His leaking tears revealed his overpowering emotions.

"Malcolm," she sighed in resignation, her shoulders slumping forward defeatedly. "Please."

"To look in the eyes of someone who was and will always be your entire world, only to be told you're not enough…" he whispered. "I am sorry."

She fell to her knees so she could be leveled with him. Her dagger fell to the ground next to them. She could not bear to do it. He, in turn, was her entire world.

"You are more than enough, you are more than I ever deserved." Her voice cracked, but he didn't say anything. "Please, Malcolm, please don't do this to me. I know I deserve it. I know I deserve worse, but I can't do this without you. Come with me," she pleaded, a plea she'd never been able to make the first time, one she had been only too late for. "It can be like old times. I can do stupid shit and you can roll your eyes, make smartass commentary, and then save me like you always do. Malcolm."

He shook his head, wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. "I will not betray mother and father like you did. I cannot. My nation is my second priority, and it is too important."

She didn't bother to ask what was first; she knew she was.

"I will not leave Nico behind, or Bianca for that matter."

"Bianca's dead," she whispered. She knew Malcolm had initially forgotten she was gone far too many times, but she had hoped he'd grown out of it and learned to cope.

"I know," he murmured, and he slumped against her, his forehead on her shoulder like they were children once more. "I'm not crazy, I promise."

"I know." She was afraid to touch him, to anger him, to feel things as strongly as she did now.

"You killed her. I know that now too." He whispered.

"Do you hate me?" She cringed, knowing full well she already hated herself more than anyone else ever could.

"I could never hate you." He laughed, but it sounded more like a half cry. "Perhaps you're my weakness, my fatal flaw."

Her heart squeezed painfully.

"Bianca's gone, but I will not leave her grave cold. I will not leave her brother guide-less to become cold like her."

"She's a ghost, Malcolm. You can come with me. Bianca will not think less of you for leaving her, Nico will not think you a weaker person, mother and father will be disappointed, but they will not see you less of a man because they know our friendship has always run bone-deep." Even 'friendship' did not come close to expressing their soulful bond.

"Being with you is the same as being with a ghost," he admitted, and Annabeth felt as though she'd been slapped, though he was right, as always, as Malcolm always was. "I don't know you anymore." Malcolm cupped her face, searching her expression and eyes for something. He deflated slowly, tugging on loose strands of her curly blonde locks as he had always done ever since they were young. Though back then, that had resulted in arguing and sometimes even Annabeth slapping his hand away in frustration at being treated like a child, though she had fully been one, and so had he.

"You can get to know me," Annabeth amended, hopeful.

Malcolm looked at her for a moment, as if considering, but they both knew his mind was already made up. "You should get out of here before someone finds your friends and hurts you," he cautioned. He swept her hair away from her face like he was going to shower her with affection as he usually did, but this time he hesitated.

Annabeth swallowed her pride, not knowing when she'd see him again. "I…"

"It's okay, Annabeth. I know," he whispered, squeezing her hand tightly. He went to stand up, but she stopped him, her throat closing.

"No. It's not. I— I love you," she fiercely proclaimed, her voice breaking again, stray tears decorating the fine lines of her lashes. Her shoulders felt lighter as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her. How long had it been since they'd actually said that out loud? Years, most likely? It was a souring thought.

Malcolm crushed her with a bear hug and for a moment, Annabeth feared he would crack her ribs with his vice grip, but she shoved the thought aside. To have her ribs cracked by him, that would be okay too. They would serve as a reminder of her first best friend, even before Jason, a built-in best friend she'd had since July 12th, since the day she was born.

He roughly shoved her away, standing to his feet. Annabeth scrambled to his side.

"You suck at subtle," he told her, pointing to the map she'd tried to change. Annabeth cringed. He now knew they had been very close to discovering the Amazon base. No doubt Malcolm already knew their location. The blonde mildly wondered if they'd still storm the Amazon base or if Malcolm would purposefully deflect Epresh's strategies away from her new home. She didn't bother asking, afraid of the answer, afraid that it wouldn't be the answer she so desperately longed for.

"And hurry up," he added, striding to the heavy doors, cracking one open, and peeked out cautiously. Annabeth anxiously flitted behind him.

"Where are we going?"

…

"You're taller than me," Annabeth protested, when he waited impatiently for her to catch up. "And," she added, before he could interject, "you're not wearing an uncomfortable corset. I bet you'd be slower if you had something squeezing your insides out. My insides are crying."

"I'm going to make your inner pain outer if you don't shut up," Malcolm muttered under his breath, and Annabeth cracked the faintest of smiles.

"Who did you kill? You can't be serious." She peered up at the ebony doors.

"I usually am," Malcolm pointed out, ignoring the first question, cracking the door open, and letting her slip inside first before following dutifully.

To his credit, he seemed disgusted enough, for which Annabeth was grateful. She, on the more extreme end, was horrified. She covered her mouth and resisted the urge to gag, sliding her fingers over her nose to mask the unmistakable stench of blood.

"Why would you keep it like this?" she asked, aghast, though she already knew the answer.

"Blood is the perfect traceable clue," Malcolm replied, his voice monotone. "We've tracked some of the owners down."

"And?" She looked up at him, suspicious.

"An assortment of our royal guards."

"No Amazons?"

"None at all." Malcolm walked around the table, surveying the immense pile.

"Canadians? The Pevanshires?" she pressed further. Surely he wouldn't only hassle the Ashingtons, not with the power he had.

"Just us. And they're all signed for you, little Annie."

Annabeth approached the table cautiously. Stacked high was a mountain of letters, some small, some on expensive pieces of parchment, some etched on a napkin, some photographs Malcolm had printed out, seeing as the message had been carved into a corpse's skin, but they were all dipped in blood, red from all different heads, and they all ended the same way:

Sleep safe,

L.

"Of course he would call me that. Medusa was always fond of the nickname." She threw down the paper in distaste.

"Are you not more concerned with the fact that he is killing people to leave a note on their corpse, dipped in their fucking blood for you?" Malcolm glowered.

Annabeth gawked at him. "Of course I am! But why you? Why your guards of all guards? Why not the Amazons, and the Canadians, and the Pevanshires? Epresh isn't the only one he's at war with. Luke's practically fighting against his own house as well. You think all of the Calbournes support his position as King when Percy was the intended ruler? With Medusa, that crazy bitch controlling Luke's every move, making him rule for her?"

"I imagine it's because he's after you," he said, solemn.

"But why would he send it here? He knows I'm not here anymore. Me?"

"Perhaps it's a subtle warning to us Ashingtons in general; he intends to destroy us in this war. But I am most certain he is after you. And Perseus." Malcolm nodded slowly. "Do you know if he's been in touch with the eldest Calbourne?"

Annabeth sat down, feeling empty. "No, I haven't talked to him in two days."

Malcolm didn't ask, still recognizing that they were, on paper at least, enemies. "I see. He will come after you, Annabeth. Luke will do whatever he can to kill Perseus."

"And me?" It was no secret Perseus was as good as dead in Luke's hands. Luke would publically humiliate him, tarnish a reputation he'd already destroyed with Medusa, and then hang him, she was sure. He was always one for theatrics.

"I don't know about you. I have a feeling he'd rather keep you around just to torture you, but he wouldn't kill you. He'll give you worse than death." Malcolm's voice was a hushed warning.

Annabeth's heart pounded in her chest. "Why are you showing me all this?"

"It's addressed to you." He shrugged.

Her mouth felt dry. "That's not it; I know you."

Malcolm tilted his head to one side, and though they looked nothing alike, she saw Percy in him all at once. "Because I don't want you to do anything stupid."

"I thought you already said I was stupid, and a child. Several times." She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.

"No, Annabeth. You know what I'm referring to."

There was a lump in her throat all of a sudden. "I can't promise you anything."

"You can't fix everything, Annabeth. You mustn't forget that," Malcolm cautioned.

"I know." She licked her lips, hesitating. "But I can try."

Malcolm sighed in resignation. "Don't say I didn't tell you." He glanced at all the paper. "We're keeping these, by the way. They were still sent here, and they're still our property to use against the Boy King."

"I expect nothing less." She stood to her feet. "I suppose I should be on my way."

"Of course. Collecting your friends before someone finds them has always seemed like a good idea," he agreed. Malcolm looked awkwardly at the door. "It's not like I can walk you out." He offered a half-smile, one she returned easily.

"I understand. Good luck with the wars, big brother. You'll win, I'm sure of it." Annabeth walked to the door, her footsteps light like a rabbit. But right before she could sneak out, Malcolm gripped her arm, digging his fingers into her smooth skin. She looked up at him surprised, and was further shocked to see the fierce determination on his face.

"When you kill her, stab her well." His teeth were bared like a lion and Annabeth seized up in terror at his violent shift in nature.

Malcolm's words chilled her to the bone, and wrenching her arm out of his grip, she looked back at him one last time, his soft features, his melancholy face, but his steel eyes, and soaked it all in, remembering him one last time. If he was right, she may not live to see him again, nor him, her.

Annabeth blended in with the shadows, her cape obscuring her face once more and covering the curly staple. And as she went in search of Piper and Hazel for their escape to Thasite, she mulled over her brother and his final bidding to her.

Only Malcolm would know she was on her way to assassinate the Queen, all without her opening her mouth. At least when it came to her, that boy had always been psychic.

The blonde grinned to herself, descending faster down the dark spiral staircase.

Nico

"I wish I could do that."

Nico spun around the face the familiar blond, one he'd reluctantly grown fond of, though he'd never admit that out. Or the fact that it might've been more than simply 'fond.'

"Fight?" Nico raised an eyebrow, his chest heaving from exhaustion. Training was a nice place to release pent up energy and anger.

"I'm just a healer." Will shrugged, staring at his hands in disgust. Nico's heart dropped in his chest, against his own will.

"Healers are important, too. We'd die out there if it wasn't for you guys. And besides, every royal I know is convinced castle healers are magic."

Will shrugged again. "Maybe."

Nico was disappointed, too, disappointed that Will wasn't proud of himself for being incredible, disappointed that he wasn't good enough with emotions to console the wonder boy.

"Can I give it a go?" Will pointed to the row of sharp swords.

Nico glanced at Will, surprised. He hadn't had a training partner in a long time, finding himself to be more of the lone wolf type, but Will was always an exception to everything. He gestured towards the swords.

Will laughed. "I don't know which one to pick, you know."

"Oh."

"I've never done this before."

"Oh."

"Nico?"

Nico's eyes snapped to Will's face, his cheeks turning a bit pink at being caught daydreaming. It's just… the light coming through the window made Will's hair look white, and his eyes were even bluer, which Nico didn't think was possible, and it's just…

"Right." The Prince examined Will's height, taller than himself for sure, and sized up a sword that would most likely fit him. "Hold this."

Will's hand wrapped around the hilt, only for him to promptly drop it.

"Not that one, then." He re-racked it, hiding a small smile of amusement. "Try this one." He held out a standard sword with a green grip around the hilt, making it hopefully more comfortable. Will managed to hold that one out this time, indicating that it probably felt more balanced in the older boy's hands.

Will swished it through the air in excitement.

The pale boy ducked, his reflexes quick, in surprise. He caught the sword with one hand, and glared at Will, though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He could never really be mad at the healer.

"Okay, rule number one: no random swinging and trying to decapitate people. They're weapons, not toys."

"Right, sorry," Will apologized, sheepishly.

"And rule number two: you have to do as I say, because if you break something, my mother will kill me, and as much as I joke about death, suffocating in Persephone's perfume is not how I plan to go," he deadpanned. "Got it?"

Will cracked a smile. "Whatever you say, Nico," he spread his arms dramatically.

"You're ridiculous," Nico commented, shifting the dummies in front of Will, in a wide open space.

"Thanks." Will winked, and Nico had to look the other way for a solid five seconds. Damn healer.

…

"No, no, no, stop, oh my god." Nico pinched the bridge of his nose as an arrow shot gracefully in an arc… three feet away from the target. "You're going to kill someone, and it's not going to be the enemy."

Will rolled his eyes. "Way to be supportive."

"Maybe you're just not cut out for this," Nico suggested. "In all fairness, I'm pretty sure patients would die from the sight of my face before I could even begin to treat them."

Will laughed at that. "Well, I for one, think your face is very nice."

His cheeks turned pink, but he refused to acknowledge it, blaming it on the heat and the sticky sweat of training hard. Hopefully Will would think it was from that too. He approached the taller boy, awkwardly circling around him and fixing his position. He gently nudged Will's elbow higher, and straightened his left arm. Every time his skin made contact with Will's, Nico felt like he was on fire.

Nico put his face near Will's, trying his damnedest not to flush bright red, and tilted Will's upper body upward a little, so it would aim at the target better. "Okay, now pull back. All the way to your cheek, remember," he reminded the healer, and took a step back.

Will drew the compound bow back, and Nico adjusted his elbow one last time. The Prince of Pevanshire's eyes wandered to the little bit of skin that peeked out at the hem of Will's shirt when he drew the string back. Will let the string slip through his fingers, and the arrow spiraled toward the dummy, striking it in the very center of its heart with the precision of a machine.

"Oh. My. God." Will cheered, jumping up and down a little in a way that both made him seem his age, only 16, and made Nico fall for him a little bit more than he already had.

"How are you so good at this?" Will laughed, putting down the bow. He'd seemingly given up, which Nico was a-okay with. Without Will behind a weapon, the world was just a little bit safer. The blond shoved his scarred hands in his pockets, slumping on a chair nearby.

Nico shrugged, embarrassed at the praise. "I could ask you the same for healing."

Will smiled, though it was shy. "Passion. I'm sure it's the same for you. I've seen you in here for hours upon hours each day."

"You watch me train?"

"Sometimes," Will admitted, his ears turning pink. Nico was glad he wasn't the only one affected by the tension in the room.

"That's so stalkery, Solace."

Will grinned. "I saw you pass the infirmary three times yesterday. Don't act all high and mighty now, di Angelo."

Nico covered his face and groaned.

…

"Why did I think this was a good idea again? I suck."

Nico held both his own sword and Will's, the one he'd confiscated in under two seconds of the battle, against Will's throat. The healer had complained that Nico was going too easy on him, which he had been for obvious reasons, and had practically begged Nico not to let him win. So here they were, Will on the floor in under thirty seconds and Nico the sole victory, as always.

Nico shrugged. "I warned you." He dropped the weapons to the side, allowing the tiniest of smiles. Will's face visibly brightened at Nico's content expression.

"As always, I'm on top." The Prince smirked.

…

"Why the fuck are you so heavy?" Nico complained. Will was on top of him, fiddling with the buttons on Nico's shirt. Will pulled away from peppering kisses down the side of Nico's neck, and squinted at the Prince

He feigned offense, though the smile on his face gave him away. "I'm perfectly normal weight, thank you. Just because you're too light for your age doesn't mean that I'm heavy." He flashed his pearly whites and next thing he knew, he'd tugged off his own shirt in one smooth motion.

Nico sucked in a sharp breath at Will's golden skin, shiny like the sun. Nico traced the swirly, white faint lines, reminiscents of scars across Will's chest. Then all of a sudden, his lips were against his own, and they were kissing again. Nico's hands found their way to the front of Will's shirt, pulling him forward and off balance and closer to him. Will was doing this little thing where he was gasping between kisses and it was driving Nico crazy. Wills' warm palm snuck around to the small of Nico's back, and Nico gritted his teeth. Will's touch was almost painful from how much Nico craved it.

If this was a sin, then Nico would call himself a sinner in a heartbeat, because when Will traced the hard planes of his chest like he did now, and stirred the dark hair on his head with small puffs of air, and cupped his chin in his warm hands— it must've been a healer thing, and tasted of mint, and lemon, and sunlight, Nico felt more full than he'd felt in fucking years.

It didn't feel as dirty as his mother made it out to be, or as the royals frowned upon. It didn't feel like his chest was concaving like it did when he used to think about Perseus with this longing that was never fulfilled, because now his head was filled with clouds of Will Solace everywhere he went. He would never feel this way with any of the stupid girls Persephone found for him, he was certain now. And it wasn't because they were terrible girls, he was sure they were lovely, but that wasn't him. This was him. And as far as Nico was concerned, who he loved and who he slept with was none of their business.

It would come later, he knew, the guilt, and the hurt, and the stab of pain every time he fucking saw Will Solace, because he wasn't allowed this bliss forever, not even now, not even this one time, but for now he soaked in every bit of sunshine.

It had been so long since he'd seen the light, and Nico found that while asleep in a sixteen-year dark night, he'd entirely forgotten what daylight looked like, and he'd forgotten how beautiful it felt to have the sun on his face again.

Annabeth

"I didn't even know I owned that."

The brunette shrugged, glancing at the emerald and gold necklace she was twirling around her index finger. "You can sell emerald for a lot down south," said Piper.

Annabeth blinked. Piper had done well, better than she could have ever predicted, and she'd neatly put all valuables in a silver box to carry easily.

Rachel had some dark substance streaked across her hairline and Annabeth didn't even have the heart to tell her. The redhead was ecstatic. Apparently she'd knocked out a guard or two while Hazel sniffed out Annabeth's disguised trunk of maps. Hazel had stuffed as many maps into her jacket as possible, and then they'd both run. Annabeth didn't say anything about her brother, choosing to omit that detail entirely when retelling her aspect of the goal.

Hazel was piloting and Rachel was sketching the view out of the window as they made their way to Thasite. Annabeth quietly sat in a cushy seat and watched the news flicker across the screen, feeling like a liar. They'd all gotten in and out cleanly, accomplished their tasks, and not only had she failed, but she'd also not told them that when asked.

She was dimly aware of Piper sliding on the seat next to her.

"Hey," she greeted softly.

Annabeth's eyes stayed glued to the gruesome details of war. "Hi."

"Are you worried?" Piper got right to the point.

Annabeth's forehead creased. Worried? Am I? She'd never been all too in touch with her emotions. A side effect of growing up an Ashington, she supposed.

"Why would I be worried?"

"You tell me." Piper glanced up at the screen. "I thought the first mission went fairly well, and if we can nail this one too, we'll have been very successfully."

"I suppose."

"Why do you feel the first mission didn't go well?" Piper inquired, pressing further. Annabeth felt vulnerable and emotionally naked under Piper's scrutinizing gaze.

She shrugged, unresponsive. "I never said that."

"Yes, but you're showing me you think that," Piper mentioned, though not unkindly. "Hazel and Rachel got the maps, and you even looked through them, they got the perfect ones. I picked out valuables you didn't even know you owned, finding lots of monetary value for the Amazons. And you did well, also. Correct?"

"Sure," the blonde agreed, albeit half-heartedly.

They fell into a comfortable silence for a while, before the Raya daughter interrupted once more.

"How's your family?"

Annabeth, startled, flinched, looking at Piper with wide eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Your family: your brother, mother, father," Piper clarified. "It mustn't have been easy to return home. I'm not sure I could do the same."

Annabeth's jaw tensed. "It was fine and I'm sure they're fine, also."

"Don't you miss your brother, though?"

"Of course I do. Who doesn't miss their family?" Annabeth proposed.

Piper shrugged, careless. "I don't."

Annabeth's lips parted in surprise.

"Drew never liked me all too much, Silena was never home, my mother's crazy, and my father agrees with all my mother says. I don't belong there; I belong here," she explained.

"Oh. I understand," Annabeth tried. "My parents were never my favorite either, especially my father." Her fingers played with a loose string on the couch's arm.

"But you and Malcolm were really good together, right?"

"Why do you keep asking about him?" Annabeth frowned, suspicious of the Raya once more. It was embedded in her blood.

Piper's expression changed to one of seriousness. "Because I think you ran into him while we were there."

Annabeth shot up, sitting straight. "Why would you say that?" she hissed.

"Am I wrong?"

"How would you know that?" Annabeth asked, unintentionally confirming Piper's claims.

"Oh, Annabeth." Piper's tone changed to one of sympathy. "Why didn't you just tell us?"

"What's there to tell? He spotted me, we argued for a bit, he held a knife to my throat and I did the same to him, and then we went our separate ways." She didn't want to talk about Luke or his letters. That was for her to know, and her only. She didn't want pity, she didn't want any of it. Her blood was boiling.

"It's okay to be upset," Piper consoled her.

Annabeth's throat felt uncomfortably tight. "I'm not upset," she lied through her teeth.

"I would be too," Piper promised. "I know you guys are close."

"Were," Annabeth corrected, and Piper didn't say anything, just looked at her solemnly. "And none of this matters. What matters is that I failed the fucking mission, Piper." Her eyes burned, the feeling of disappointment and self-hatred overwhelming her. "He saw me move the pieces, and so I failed. More so, he probably knows exactly where we are located now, all because of my carelessness."

"You had no backup," Piper soothed, and Annabeth imagined this must've been what it was like to have a sister. It was nice, in some ways, but Piper could never replace Malcolm, just like Percy could never replace Luke. It was a disturbing thought, one that made her feel queasy, but Annabeth tried to keep herself out of shock at the realization.

"I know. But…" Annabeth trailed off. "What are we going to do now?"

Piper thought for a moment. "He let you go, hon. He still sees you as a sister, and you see him as a brother. That will probably never change; you both are joined at the hip at this point in your lives. I highly doubt he'll use any of your strategies against you, and I sincerely doubt that Malcolm will ever lead anyone to hurt you. You're safe."

Annabeth felt sick to her stomach. "Piper, those maps Hazel scooped up could bring down the entire Ashington palace, the entire country of Epresh. He would never hurt me, sure, but I'm hurting him by taking these with me." She couldn't breathe.

"Deep breaths, Annabeth." Piper's cool voice enveloped her surroundings and the blonde felt her hands squeezed in Piper's reassuring grip.

She sucked in air desperately, following Piper's example. "I can't kill him." Her eyes were rimmed red. "If we were on a battlefield and it was him or me, I'd kill myself," she choked out. Piper's face was blurring in her vision.

"Breathe," Piper demanded, and Annabeth shuddered out a long exhale. "Good. Again." She inhaled through her nose and exhaled once more. "Listen to me." Piper shook her hands in hers. "We're going to fix this."

"How?" Annabeth's bottom lip trembled.

Quietly, and making sure nobody was looking, Piper led her to the back of the plane where all of the items they'd looted from Ashington Castle was stored. In a misshapen cardboard box were the maps. Annabeth watched as Piper swept a matchbook off a nearby counter and struck a match with ease. Her caramel hands carefully cupped the flame to keep it burning.

'Watch this,' she mouthed to Annabeth, holding the maps in her left hand. With her right hand, she lifted the match to the maps.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Panic seized Annabeth, anxiety eating at her soul. Hazel and Rachel would think they were traitors.

Piper stepped around the corner, keeping it out of Annabeth's reach.

"No, wait— don't!" Annabeth whisper-yelled, but it was too late. The maps went up in flames, and together they watched her painstaking drawings disappear just like that. When it was done and gone, the plans against her old kingdom burnt to ash, Annabeth stared in horror at the remnant dust of what was once their greatest advantage.

"What have you done?" Annabeth made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. In a moment, Piper was right in front of her, her soft hands wrapped around Annabeth's wrists. The Ashington ex-princess felt uneasy under Piper's unyielding eye contact. "Why?"

"Your family's safe."

"Because," she sputtered in shock. "The Amazons will kill me."

"They didn't know you were going to get maps," Piper dismissed. "Nobody has to know." She shook her head.

"Because Hazel, and Rachel, and Reyna, and Thalia."

"Because your brother's safe."

"Because they'll think we're traitors. Why would you do that for me?"

"Because Malcolm's safe, Annabeth." Piper looked at her carefully.

"Because Queen Artemis."

"Annabeth." Her tone was soft.

She felt like melting from relief. "Because Malcolm, okay? Just… Malcolm."

"Okay," Piper promised, and Annabeth sunk to the ground, mourning the loss of her brother like she never really had before, and understanding that though loyal to the Amazons, she was never truly on anyone's side. It was a conflict of interest and the sooner she was at peace with that decision, the sooner she'd be at peace with herself.

Piper sat with her, quiet, and together they watched the clouds go by.

A/N: I'm deceased for two reasons. First, bc I'm so fucking funny. That scene change w Solangelo had me dead. "I'm always on top." *cuts to Nico being a bottom* And then second, bc I'm so fucking funny, pt. 2. When I was titling this chapter, I was laughing to myself. Send help.

Anyways, I thought it was about time Solangelo stopped dancing around each other lol. Lemme know what you thought.

Until next time~

Fangirl xx

Mitsuha Miyamizi: I'm glad plot progression is going well in your opinion; tryna built that ish is complicated and got me having permanent headaches, you feel me? Thanks! I'm doing my best to make Annabeth flawed, but relatable, and still likeable.

Chocolate: Rachel is a bubbly ray of sunshine and I love her sass lmao. We'll see how Percy reacts; he hasn't really formally met her yet. Addressing Drew, let's just say I have a very specific plot to her, and I cannot confirm nor deny any of your claims, just like for all other predictions, though I certainly love reading them; keep em coming! It's funny because once in a while I do get a reviewer who guesses something correctly, and it's so hard not to confirm it till I've already released the chapter. Ig you'll have to see! I'm so relieved you like Annabeth! I worry that people will find her annoying or stupid because I'm trying to keep her flawed and relatable, yet likeable, and that's a very delicate line to walk. Yep, all those characters were made up for the sheer purpose of a couple scenes, same as for those two girls. And the blonde one is the one who died. Don't count on anything, but I'll see what I can do. Apollo and Leo have never really been in my plan, so I'm not sure. Love ya, too XP

Butterflies765: Thank you! I'm so tired of tropes, as fun as they are to indulge in once in a while, so plot and plot twists are a big deal to me, and to hear so much positive feedback on that aspect of my story is so fulfilling, you don't even know. OMG FINALLY! YES XD I looooove Drew in this story, and I'm trying to do my best to make her intriguing/appealing despite everyone's bias against her from the canon stories. I'll definitely have more for Drew next chapter, especially because I couldn't squeeze her into this chapter, but I freaking love you. Thank you for looking past Uncle Rick's portrayal of her typical mean-girl personality and assessing my demonstration of her separately. That just made my day lol.