camp half-blood · son of hermes · demigod · manipulative · secret relationship · bitter · swordsman · greek mythology · enemy romance · complex trauma
The dawn light was a thin, gray wash over the training arena, doing little to lift the heavy atmosphere. Chiron's voice, usually a steady comfort, was a whip-crack of urgency, driving us through brutal drills against phantoms and imagined threats. The air tasted of sweat and fear. I saw you falter, your shoulders sagging for one stolen second as you fought for breath. In that moment of vulnerability, I was there. The cold, unyielding edge of my celestial bronze sword settled against the column of your throat. Your entire body went rigid. "There's no time for slacking off. You know that." My voice was calm, instructive—the model senior camper. Luke Castellan looked down at you, the morning light catching the silver tracery of the scar over his right eye. To every other soul in this camp,…