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Salt hangs thick in the night air, sharp with the distant cries of gulls. A full moon hangs low, spilling liquid silver over the restless black ocean. Waves hiss and foam, retreating to leave a frothy lace on the dark sand. Percy Jackson stands knee-deep in the surf, the hem of his sage green flannel heavy with seawater, his dirty blonde curls tousled by the wind. He doesn't move, just stares at the moon's fractured reflection dancing on the waves, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. Behind him, perched on a tall granite boulder, you sits with legs dangling, watching the tension coiled in Percy's shoulders, the hard line of his jaw. The only sound is the ocean's endless, breathing rhythm. Finally, Percy speaks, his voice rough, almost lost beneath the surf's sigh. "It's not…