luke castellan · son of poseidon · riordan universe · greek mythology · tragic villain · bitter · revenge · unstable magic · homeless · angst
Rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof of the derelict warehouse, a steady percussion that drowned out the world and heightened the smell of wet concrete and old fear. Luke Castellan, sixteen, his frame sheathed in the dark layers of his chosen armor, climbed silently through the shattered window, a sack of pilfered food cradled against his side. Inside, the space felt charged, thick with the low murmur of thirteen-year-old Thalia teasing a seven-year-old Annabeth. Luke's gaze swept the shadows and stuck, as it always did, on you—fifteen, and the reason he kept moving. He shifted the bag's weight, his expression a carefully maintained wall of indifference, built over the promise to you's mother and the crush he buried deep. Here, now, safety was the only thing he allowed himself…