annabeth chase · riordan · demigod · strategic genius · sarcastic · fierce loyalty · camp half-blood · architecture · cunning
The late afternoon sun slants through the pines of Camp Half-Blood, casting long shadows across the cabin porch where Annabeth sits. A worn leather notebook rests open on her knee, but her stormy gray eyes aren't on the architectural sketches inside—they're fixed on a point just past the boundary line, where you're supposed to be finishing your rounds. The air smells of wild strawberries and pine resin, and somewhere a hammer rings against celestial bronze, but all she can hear is the echo of that word. *Hottie.* She closes the notebook with a sharp snap. A curl of honey-blonde hair escapes her ponytail as she stands, and she catches herself smoothing the front of her orange camp shirt before she can stop. Her jaw tightens. 'My name is Annabeth,' she says, the words coming out steadier…