hey guys guess who's not dead hahahah me sorry about that

for the record i've had most of this chapter written for like ,,, over a year but then i kind of forgot about it and then my boyfriend read this entire story and kind of blackmailed me into finishing it so i guess you can thank him for this? (i made him read this chapter and now he's mad at me bc he hates miscommunication unless it's in comedy but hahaha suck it babe drama is more of my thing)

my new goal is getting this done by the time i graduate (omg i'm a senior and i'm graduating in may and literally wtf how is this happening) but yes. new goal. let's try to do this. we'll see how it goes

anyway! please read and enjoy and leave a review otherwise i might not have motivation to finish it hahah no pressure tho :)))

•

February 10th, 1776

Annabeth awoke to a pounding on her door.

Her first thought was that it was Percy; he'd been at the camp with Major Pitcairn for the last few days. Although it had only been a few weeks since he was caught in the blizzard, he was back to his regular duties within a week.

Annabeth had fret and worried, but deep down she understood his urgency to get back to work. There was a war going on, and if information passed by them or they missed an opportunity to help, lives could be lost.

The pounding on her door continued, and she could hear muffled voices as well, but she couldn't make out who they were or what they were saying.

"Coming," she called, blearily rolling out of bed and tying on her robe. She stumbled over to the door, rubbing her eyes and yawning before pasting an awake expression on her face and turning the knob.

Her stepmother was standing outside her door, alone. "Good morning," Annabeth greeted her. "Why were you knocking? And I thought I heard voices, who…" she trailed off at the frightened, tense expression on Helen's face.

"Annabeth. Get dressed and come downstairs immediately," she said, glancing around anxiously as though someone could be listening.

Annabeth furrowed her eyebrows. "What? Why?"

"Just do as I say," her stepmother flung back, the urgency in her voice telling Annabeth what her words did not.

Annabeth closed the door and started to get her clothes on, wondering at her stepmother's strange actions. Something must have happened, something—

Her first though was again Percy. Did something happen, did he get caught—

No, surely it couldn't be.

She quickly pulled her dress over her petticoats, swearing as a button caught in her hair. Yanking it out, she buttoned up the back and grabbed a shawl from her vanity before pulling on her shoes and hurrying downstairs.

The sight that greeted her caused dread to coil in her stomach threateningly.

"Major Pitcairn, soldiers," she said pleasantly to the men standing in the sitting room, masking any fear or worry with a calm smile. "What can I do for you?"

Major Pitcairn sighed heavily. "Miss Chase, we have some serious matters to discuss."

Annabeth felt the coil tighten. "Such as what?"

The major glanced at Helen, who was standing at the doorway, a worried expression on her face. "Can we speak privately?"

Annabeth nodded and went to the door. "'Tis fine," she told her stepmother. "Just some business to take care of."

Helen bit her lip but stepped back, and Annabeth shut the door before turning back to the major and the soldiers. "Is everything alright? Is Percy—"

"No, Officer Jackson is perfectly fine. We are here to discuss you," the major said, his expression grim.

"Me?" Annabeth felt the coil of dread loosen slightly. "What do you mean?"

The major sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Annabeth."

"Sorry for what—"

Another soldier stepped forward. "Annabeth Chase has been accused of treason against His Majesty by giving valuable information to known rebels such as Paul Revere, Benjamin Franklin, the late Doctor Joseph Warren—"

"What?" Annabeth gasped. "No, I—"

"An officer who asked to remain unnamed told us yesterday. He has been promoted to lieutenant for his actions after we discovered his sources and information were correct." Major Pitcairn looked at her with sad eyes, his wrinkled face suddenly looking aged, tired.

Helen burst into the room as the soldiers started tying Annabeth's hands behind her back. "What is the meaning of this?" she cried. "Where are you taking my daughter?"

"'Tis alright, 'tis all just a misunderstanding—" Annabeth told her frantically. "Everything will be fine, I promise. Now go."

Helen obeyed, looking uncertain, and Annabeth felt a sinking in her heart.

They know.

She knew what they did to spies, to deserters, to people they deemed had committed treason against the crown. An image of Leo in the town square came to her mind; limp against the firing pole as bullets hit his lifeless body, blood spattering in slow motion and his chest jerking with every hit.

She closed her eyes.

The soldiers forced her into a waiting carriage, and Annabeth saw curious neighbors and people on the street craning their necks to see what the commotion was about. She knew it would be all over town within a few hours—the daughter of Dr. Chase, a well-known Loyalist, arrested by British soldiers.

She sat in silence as the carriage rumbled down the street, the soldiers around her quiet as well. She took the opportunity to study them—they were young, some of them her own age or younger. Children in a war that didn't concern them, fighting for a cause they didn't care about.

She straightened her back. She might be a child in the eyes of some, but she knew what she stood for, what she would die for.

Die for.

The thought chilled her. She was going to die.

Another thought leapt into her mind. Percy. Was he alright? Was he found out as well? Was he—

Suddenly Major Pitcairn's words flashed back to her mind.

An officer who asked to remain unnamed told us yesterday—

No one else could have known. No one else could have given them the information with sources and stories to prove it. Percy had been gone for three days at the camp.

As soon as the thought came to her, she shook it out of her head. How the hell could she ever suspect Percy, suspect the one person that cared about her most? They had been through so much, both in the war and in their own relationship. He would never betray her like that. She felt guilty for suspecting him even for a second.

But then who?

Her thoughts whirled, trying to figure out what was happening, trying to come to terms with what was going to happen to her.

They arrived at camp in seemingly no time at all, and the soldiers forced Annabeth from the carriage, but most of them were polite, careful. She suspected she was one of the first women they had ever arrested. One of them accidently pushed her, and he immediately apologized, stumbling over himself and not meeting her eyes.

She had to smile, just a little.

But then the major signaled, and they brought her into the camp. She felt hundreds of eyes on her, hundreds of soldiers eating breakfast or cleaning guns or feeding horses, stopping what they were doing to look at her.

Her hands started to tremble, but she forced her chin up and kept walking.

After what felt like an eternity, they reached Major Pitcairn's tent, and she was pushed inside. The soldiers holding her arms dropped them, and the major signaled for them to leave.

Annabeth was alone with the major, and she watched as he took a seat.

"I'm very sorry that this had to happen," he began, folding his hands on the desk in front of him. "When they first told me, I didn't believe it. Not Annabeth Chase, one of our top spies and informants.

"But then the officer started telling me details about you, about what you have been doing these past two years. Giving us false or needless information and passing along important details about our plans to the Patriots. You've been working with Paul Revere, playing double spy, juggling your life with your family, your country, and these—these rebels who would take it away from us." The major's kind, sad eyes studied her. "Why, Annabeth? Why?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. The explanation was ready on her lips, but would he hear her? Would he understand why she had risked so much, why she had worked so hard these past years? Why she was willing to give up her life for this cause?

The silence was deafening. Annabeth's heart pounded in her ears.

Major Pitcairn sighed deeply. "You have been sentenced to death. However, your father is an old friend of mine from England, so I will allow his daughter the honor and dignity of saying goodbye to her family and friends. Your execution has been scheduled for tomorrow."

He kept talking, but Annabeth couldn't hear his voice over the roaring in her ears.

You have been sentenced to death.

It had finally come to this. All this time she had known, deep down, how much she was risking, how much she might have to give up. Now that it was actually happening, it seemed surreal—as though it was actually happening to someone else. It felt almost like a dream; she felt as though any moment she might awaken back in her bed, Percy knocking on the door or her mother calling her for breakfast.

Not that it was her last day on earth.

Soldiers suddenly came into the room again, and Annabeth was forced from the tent out into the bright, cold air. She blinked in the sun, and suddenly—

There was Percy. "Annabeth—" he started.

The soldier holding her arms nodded to him. "Excuse us, Lieutenant Jackson."

Annabeth's breath caught.

Lieutenant Jackson.

Oh, God.

An officer who asked to remain unnamed told us yesterday. He has been promoted to lieutenant for his actions—

Her hands started to shake again as she was pulled along, the soldiers nearly dragging her. Her feet were frozen like they were blocks of ice, the dread seeping through her heart. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of confusion, and all that was clear was the pounding words—

Percy betrayed me.

He had given her up—for what, money? A promotion? Maybe he would be allowed to go back to England, to see his mother again. She knew he missed her, missed his former home, but to trade Annabeth's life for that chance was beyond her realm of imagination.

Everything fit, though. She couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it, but it all suddenly feel into place in her mind. Percy had been gone at camp for days, he had been promoted to lieutenant, he was the only one who could have known everything that the major said. Even the surprise that should have been on his face at seeing her in the camp, hands bound and surrounded by soldiers, was missing.

She felt a lump rising in her throat, her hands trembling violently, as the soldiers brought her to a small shed and threw her inside, closing the door and cutting off the last rays of winter sunlight. Annabeth slumped against the wall in the dark, feeling hot tears run down her cheeks. Her throat was rapidly closing, and she breathed quickly, trying to fill her lungs with air. Choking and gasping, the panic seemed to consume her; she panted desperately, trying to gulp in air, but her lungs wouldn't allow her.

Suddenly the door to the shed opened, and a familiar face peeked in. "Annabeth? Oh, God. Annabeth." Percy ran to her, kneeling on the muddy floor of the shed—heedless of his white breeches—and took her hands. "Breathe, 'beth. Breathe."

Annabeth choked, gasping for air. "Breathe," he said again, frantic. "'Tis alright. Take a deep breath—that's it."

She finally was able to get a breath, shallow gulps of air filling her lungs. Once she was able, she yanked her hands away from Percy. "You," she said, coughing.

Percy looked bewildered. "What?"

"This is because of you," Annabeth wheezed.

"What the hell do you mean?"

"No one else could have known," she choked. "The details the major told me—no other officer could have known those, or found out. He said specifically it was an officer, but wouldn't say who."

A horrible realization began to dawn in Percy's eyes. "Annabeth, no—"

"Don't you dare deny it," she snarled. "There's no one else. How could you have—how could you…" she dissolved into tears, wiping them away furiously. "What did they offer you, besides the promotion? Are you going back to England? Getting away from the colonies like you've wanted ever since you came here?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Percy told her harshly. "You're upset, you're throwing accusations around—but Annabeth, we have to get you out, we have to—"

"There's nothing you can do. There's nothing anyone can do."

"Of course there's something I can do. We have to try, at least. Come on, think—"

Annabeth knew with all the swirling anger and rage and disbelief that she couldn't think clearly, but one thing she knew: she didn't want him there, not now. All she could see was Percy, his familiar green eyes and chiseled features crumpled, begging her to reconsider, denying the accusations. But she knew, deep down, that it was a lie.

She didn't need more lies from the man she loved.

"You need to go," she told him, getting to her feet.

"Annabeth, please—"

With shaking hands, she unclasped the necklace around her throat. It was the miniature on the chain of himself that he had given her for Christmas. Deliberately, she threw it on the ground next to his feet.

There was a moment of shocked silence. Neither of them moved a muscle until Percy stooped and picked up the chain wordlessly. His face hardened as he tucked the chain into his coat.

"I don't ever want to see your face again," she said, trying to keep her voice steady when everything inside her was threatening to crumble. She turned around to face the wall, because she knew if she looked at him for any longer she would break.

She heard him stand silently for a minute longer before turning around and leaving, his heavy footsteps fading until the door slammed and cut them off completely.

Annabeth sank to the ground, back against the wall, and sobbed. She had just lost Percy—her best friend in the world, the man she loved, the person she had wanted to spend her life with.

And he had betrayed her. His actions were going to be the cause of her death.

She didn't understand it. Nothing made sense, yet all the evidence pointed to him. Her head was swirling with disbelief and confusion and anger and sadness, but most of all her heart ached.

She was going to die.

She slumped against the wall and cried herself to sleep in the cold darkness of the shed.

•

February 10th, 1776

Percy awoke with a bad feeling in his stomach.

He tried to brush it off as he sat up. The cold ground was against his back, his bedroll in the tent barely fending off the waves of frigid air rising from solidly packed dirt floor. He hated staying at camp—not only had he been away from Annabeth for three days, but the food and lodging hardly held a candle to staying in the Chase's luxurious home.

Unfortunately, being a British officer—no, lieutenant, he reminded himself—came with many responsibilities that required him to stay at the British camp. With the new promotion, even more would arrive, he knew.

He smiled to himself, thinking of the day before. Major Pitcairn had summoned him to his tent, and Percy had gone slightly reluctantly. His mind had immediately jumped to suspicions—what if the major had discovered his spying endeavors, what if Annabeth had been found out—

But it turned out the major was giving him a promotion for his hard work over the past few months, apparently. Percy had beamed with pride as the major listed off the accomplishments he was rewarding the young man for: braving the storm to report to the major, getting his assignments done quickly, supervising younger officers in the taverns, helping out in any way he could when he was at camp.

By the time he left the major's tent, Percy's cheeks hurt from smiling, and he could hardly wait to go home and tell Annabeth. She would be proud of him, he knew—despite their work against the Crown, Major Pitcairn had been a mentor in his life, and he knew that Annabeth understood how much a promotion meant to him.

Unfortunately, his other duties caused him to be stay at the camp the rest of the day, and he was unable to travel back to Boston before sundown. Percy resolved to leave first thing in the morning and slipped under some rough wool blankets, still tingling with excitement.

And that brought him to this morning—the winter sun shining brightly through the crack in his tent, the sounds of life all around the camp as soldiers awoke, animals announcing their presence to the world.

Percy smiled a little and pulled on his coat. He exited his tent, patting Blackjack on the rump as a servant boy led the horse to water, and headed to the major's tent to let him know he would be leaving. He was whistling to himself, squinting in the bright sun, and then—

And then his entire world seemed to shatter in the blink of an eye.

"Did you hear about the girl who they finally caught?" Percy heard the voice of a young foot soldier warming his hands by a fire.

The man's friend answered, "The spy? I believe the whole camp knows, at this point."

"I'd seen her around," the first soldier said, shaking his head. "She's quite the view, if you know what I mean. It's a shame she was caught—seems a waste to kill a pretty thing like that."

The other man sighed. "I'd never have guessed—" but Percy didn't hear the rest of the sentence. His hands were suddenly clammy and shaking, and his heart was thumping so loud in his chest that he felt like it was a war drum.

No. It couldn't be—

But he neared the major's tent and caught a flash of blonde curls as the flap opened, and the sinking in his gut seemed to tear his heart in two. He saw, as if in slow motion, Annabeth being dragged from the major's tent by two soldiers, her grey eyes wide and terrified.

"Annabeth—" he started, getting closer to her.

The soldier holding his arm, a young man Percy had talked with in the past, nodded to him. "Excuse us, Lieutenant Jackson."

Annabeth looked up at him, her eyes wild and a terrible expression on her face.

Percy wanted to reach out to her, to grab her and yank her away from the guards and take her somewhere they would never be hurt again, never have to worry again. He wanted to be able to protect her, to kill anyone who touched her, to—

But his entire body felt frozen, sluggish, and he was unable to even call to her as she was dragged away.

The world seemed to spin in a fog, but once he got his bearings again, he sprinted after the soldiers. They had put her in a small shed at the edge of camp where prisoners of war and execution victims often waited.

Execution victims.

Annabeth was going to die.

His best friend, his soulmate, the person he would have died for, no hesitation—she was about to be executed.

His hand was trembling. He opened the shed door and peeked in, only to see Annabeth on the floor, gasping and choking. "Annabeth? Oh, god. Annabeth." Rushing towards her, his mind focused simply on her, her, her as he kneeled on the floor and helped her sit up. "Breathe, 'beth. Breathe."

She tried to take in a breath, her grey eyes wide and panicked, but she choked again. "Breathe," he repeated. "'tis alright. Take a deep breath—that's it."

Finally, finally, he saw her chest rise and fall as air entered her lungs. But as soon as it did, she yanked away from him, coughing and choking out, "You."

Percy reared back in surprise. "What?"

"This is because of you."

"What the hell do you mean?" he asked.

Her eyes were narrowed with what—hate? despair?—as she looked at him. "No one else could have known. The details the major told me—no other officer could have known those, or found out. He said specifically it was an officer, but wouldn't say who."

Understanding washed over him like a wave of fire, and all he could do was sputter, "Annabeth, no—"

She cut him off. "Don't you dare deny it. There's no one else. How could you have—how could you…" she began crying, but wiped the tears away as though they burned her. "What did they offer you, besides the promotion? Are you going back to England? Getting away from the colonies like you've wanted ever since you came here?"

Anger began to fill him, that she would even think this, that she would even suspect him, of all people—"I don't know what you're talking about. You're upset, you're throwing accusations around—but Annabeth, we have to get you out, we have to—"

"There's nothing you can do," she said, stone-faced. "There's nothing anyone can do."

"Of course there's something I can do," he replied, exasperated that she was giving up this quickly. "We have to try, at least. Come on, think—"

His heart was crumpling inside him for so many reasons, but over and over it was pounding out a single thought: Why, why, why, why—

"You need to go," she interrupted his inward breakdown, getting to her feet shakily, stubbornly. As stubborn as she always was. Even in the hours before her inevitable—and Percy knew, deep down, that at this point it was inevitable—death, she would do things her own way.

"Annabeth," he begged. "Please—"

He watched, dread filling him, as she unclasped the chain with the miniature he'd given her for Christmas from around her neck, throwing it to the ground next to his feet.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. This really was the end, in so many ways.

"I don't ever want to see your face again." Annabeth turned away from him, crossing her arms and facing the wall.

Percy sucked in a breath, wobbling a little on his feet. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.

Then he turned around, slamming the door behind him. He couldn't be in there for one more minute.

Annabeth might have thought it was over, but he wasn't finished. She was his world, no matter how everything happening to her right now was messing with her head. He wasn't going to go down without a fight, no matter what it took.

This isn't over. I'm getting you back.

Whatever it takes.

•

and that's that! maybe this motivation will last and i will actually start the next chapter kind of soon hahaha who knew that was a thing

byeeee (only for now pinkie promise) ;)