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“You’re starting to worry me, my dear,” Chiron said.
It had been maybe three weeks since Percy disappeared. Three weeks since he hadn’t come home from his shift. Two weeks since she had ransacked their apartment, taking all of his stuff and putting it into boxes, not leaving a single article of his behind, but barely taking enough clothes to get her through a few days. One week since she had moved back into the Athena cabin, even though she was never in there.
“Why?” Annabeth replied, staring at her reflection in the sliver of her knife. She couldn’t bear to look into Chiron’s soulful, mourning eyes. She had gotten tired of the sympathy, of the pity that had been a constant stream in the past twenty-two days. It was nonstop. From Malcolm, who would sit up in the cabin waiting for her to return from scouring the cities at late hours of the night, to Will, who had stared at her weight on the scale with a concerned look in his eye as he asked her when was the last time she had eaten. It was getting ridiculous. She was fine. She would just be even more fine when she found Percy.
Chiron rapped his fingers against the arm rest of his wheelchair, pondering his next words carefully. They were inside the Big House, so he wasn’t in his natural half-horse form. “You seem to be running yourself ragged,” he said cautiously, as though she were going to explode if he said the wrong thing.
“I’m not,” she insisted.
Chiron took off his glasses, wiping the lenses with the sleeve of his button up shirt. He seemed not to know what to say, like he was afraid the tiniest misstep was going to send her on a rampage. Everyone had that look nowadays. Nobody ever spoke their mind around her anymore. It was infuriating. “I’ve been thinking about sanctioning a quest,” he said. “Just to do a favor for the gods, get you out of New—”
“I am not doing jack shit for the gods,” she snapped. Chiron looked taken aback by her tone, and much more shocked by her language. She had always made it a point to not curse around him as a sign of respect, but now, she couldn’t care less now. “I know they had something to do with his disappearance."
“Annabeth,” Chiron began uneasily, “unjust accusations against the gods never go—”
“They’re not unjust,” she said. “They’re always doing things like this. They don’t have their war to focus on anymore, so they’re back to tormenting us. Just like they always do.”
Chiron opened his mouth to speak, but she got up before he could manage, turning on her heel and stomping out of the Big House. It was hot outside, not a single cloud in the sky to block the scorching sun, but she didn’t care, even as the sweat bead against her forehead and dripped off her collarbones. She stormed into Cabin Six, shocking the younger kids and sending them scurrying onto their bunks as they stared at her like an angry sea monster that had come to drown them all in her sorrow.
“Annabeth?” Malcolm asked, stepping away from the bookshelves lining the walls. He was holding some old scrolls, torn around the edges and stained brown, but he set them down on the table in favor of pestering her. “What are you doing?”
“Packing,” she said. She grabbed a pair of jeans, a T-shirt that still had some vestiges of Percy’s scent on it from when he would wear it to sleep, and a few pairs of boxers and bras, shoving them all into an old blue duffel bag. Percy’s old duffle bag.
Her scent must have been strong and imposing, because Malcolm made no effort to get near her, and his nose kept twitching. “Annabeth,” he repeated, his tone softer this time around, like he was trying to calm a wounded, rabid animal. He raised his hands, his palms facing her. “Don’t you think you’re being over dramatic?”
It felt like the entire cabin went silent. Her hands froze, gripping her polaroid of her and Percy at Coney island, her thumb covering her face, leaving his radiant smile the focal point of the image. Her eyes slanted towards Malcolm, who seemed to not understand the weight behind what he had just said.
“What do you mean?” she asked softly, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Malcolm stepped forward, emboldened by her lack of reaction. “We’re demigods,” he said with a nervous laugh. “We lose people all the time.”
Her eye twitched at the fact he considered Percy lost . Percy wasn’t lost. He hadn’t made a wrong turn when walking home from work. Someone had taken him from her. The gods had taken him from her, and she was going to get him back.
“I get he was your omega,” he continued. “But you’re not the only alpha that’s lost an omega before, and omegas lose their alphas. Connor lost his alpha from the Demeter cabin. Clarisse lost Silena—”
“Silena and Clarisse weren’t dating,” Annabeth said, grinding her teeth. The fact he even thought to compare the two situations showed how little he really understood.
Malcolm just shrugged. “Still, they were extremely close.”
He was right in the sense that loss was a huge part of demigod life. It had been one of the reasons Luke had turned to Kronos, the constant and continuous death and grief that came with being a head counselor. It had been bad before the Titan War, but after the defeat of Kronos, the rate of people who lost someone close to them went from about fifty percent to ninety nine. Every single cabin that had more than one person had suffered a loss, and in many cases, several. The Apollo cabin’s number had dwindled so dramatically that it went from one of the biggest cabins to one of the smallest, and Cabin 9 wasn’t much better off, having lost a substantial number to death, and then another half because of Percy’s deal with the gods for every kid to be claimed.
But none of that mattered, because Percy wasn’t dead.
“I mean,” Malcolm continued. “You guys weren’t even mated —”
Whatever he was going to say afterward, he never got around to it, because before he could finish, Annabeth’s fist collided with his nose.
**
Nobody ever went into Hera’s cabin.
There was no point. Her cabin was just about respect, about show—like Artemis’s. For how unfaithful Zeus was, Hera would never dream of cheating on him and leave a child behind to tell the tale. All of her children were legitimate and godly, so her cabin always stayed empty.
It was marble, cold and lifeless just like the goddess herself. Big, impressive columns held it up, and the stairs leading up to the front door were perfectly polished. Vines circled around them, and pomegranates grew on them, round and plump with juice. They were magically grown, of course. It wasn’t pomegranate season.
She walked up the stairs, her footsteps echoing in her ears like gunshots. It was sort of an unspoken rule that you weren’t supposed to enter a cabin that wasn’t yours, and it was even more taboo to enter an unoccupied cabin. It was like entering a temple as a nonbeliever.
For all of its outside beauty, Hera’s cabin was empty on the inside. There were no beds or wardrobes, just empty stone walls and cold, hard corners. The only bit of decoration was a life-sized statue of the goddess herself.
The year her, Percy, and Grover had gone into the Labyrinth, she had met Hera twice, once when they were in the maze and the other time after the battle. She was everything that an alpha woman should have been—tall and formidable, with perfectly brushed brown hair and piercing eyes that had scoured her and Percy’s every move, sensing their impending relationship before Annabeth was even sure if she liked Percy for real or if it was just a little (but long term) crush. She also was the pinnacle of obedience and loyalty to her husband. Well, at least to the naked eye. But that was all that mattered, because even though she was an alpha, she was still a woman, and all that mattered to culture was appearances.
She set down her duffle bag by the door, stepping up to the statue. It was a few inches taller than her, but she stood far enough away where she would not have to look up to meet its eyes. For a moment, she just stood there in silence, not exactly sure what to say.
“This is your fault,” she finally declared. “I’m not sure how. But you took him.”
The statue didn’t reply.
“Is it because I disrespected you?” she demanded, standing up straighter. The air in the room felt charged, and the hair on the back of her neck had begun to stand, goosebumps rising all over her arms. “Were you truly so offended by a seventeen year old mouthing off that you had to take him. The hero of Olympus? You all would be rotting in Tartarus if it wasn’t for us. You were losing against Typhon. We saved your lives.”
The statue still didn’t reply, but the air in the room felt thicker.
“Or let me guess. It’s because you're jealous. Your husband can’t keep his knot in his pants so you see happy relationships and you have to destroy them. It’s all you’re good for—”
Electricity crackled, and within a few seconds the marble, white skin of the statue had begun to tinge with color. Her cheeks flushed, her lips turned red, and her eyes went from soulless to hard, unyielding brown, and, before she knew it, the real Hera stood tall before her, lips pursed and hands on her hips.
“You’re lucky I’m a forgiving goddess, Annabeth Chase,” she said cooly. “And lucky that I find your anger over your lost omega endearing.”
“When have you ever been forgiving?” Annabeth snarled.
“The twenty-first century brought about some changes,” Hera said nonchalantly. “I figured I’d try not blasting mouthy little girls to smitherins, but I’m currently rethinking my decision.”
She stared at Annabeth, as if expecting her to cower, but she didn’t. She stood tall, breathing roughly with her fingers clenched at her sides. “Where is Percy?” she demanded.
“Perseus Jackson is a hot commodity,” Hera deflected. “What makes you think that I took him?”
“I don’t know, maybe the fact that you vowed to get back at me for bad mouthing you? And you knew that the way to hurt me the most was through him.” she shot back.
“It’s sweet that you think I care that much. What if a monster eliminated him?” Hera said.
“He is not dead!” Annabeth snarled.
A smile quirked at Hera’s mouth. “I hope you two live long enough to get married. I would love to see it.” She inspected her nails, which were painted white and perfectly manicured. “You’re right Perseus is not dead. He’s on a… quest at the moment.”
“And he left without saying goodbye?” she prodded incredulously. Percy rarely even left the room without giving her a detailed account where he was going, much less the entire state.
“I didn’t say he knew that he was going on the quest.”
Annabeth crossed her arms over her chest. “So you kidnapped him?”
Hera waved her hand. “I don’t do dirty work. But he—and you by extension—is involved in something bigger than you could currently imagine.”
“We just fought a war for you! What could I not imagine?”
The goddess looked impassive to this, shrugging noncommittally. Her hair bounced perfectly as she moved, and Annabeth briefly wondered if it was enchanted. “It’s not your time to know. Everything will be revealed in time.”
A headache pounded at Annabeth’s temple. She hated talking with gods, whether they be minor gods or Olympians. They always found joy in running helpless heroes in circles. “Fine, don’t tell me,” she said. She turned back around to grab her duffle bag. “I’ll find him.”
Hera chuckled. “You can certainly try, dear.”
Before Annabeth could bite back a snarky retort, the room shifted back to normal, all the electric tension sapping from the air. The marble statue was back in place, hands folded and an eerily calm smile etched on her white face.
**
It had been three months since Percy had disappeared.
After she had punched Malcolm, Chiron had tried to dole out a punishment, but before he could, she announced that she was leaving Camp. She quit her head counselor’s job and left with her bag slung over her shoulder, no matter how much Chiron tried to convince her otherwise.
She had stopped by Sally’s house before she left. Sally was obviously concerned and worried, and her hair seemed to be permanently frizzed, but she seemed to be convinced that Percy was alive. “Posedion has stopped coming when I’ve called. I’ve never done it often, except when it’s something to do with Percy, but I feel like he would tell me if he was dead,” she had said, even if there was a tinge of uncertainty to her voice. “Would you like a blue cookie, dear?”
Annabeth knew how to travel. When she had originally run away from San Francisco, it was all traveling, whether it was by foot, a hot wired car, or by sneaking onto the caboose of a train. But now she didn’t have Luke or his pit pocket prowess, so it was slightly harder. The only plus was that she had a car, but gas was expensive, and she didn’t want to drain her and Percy’s shared savings account, so she resorted to stealing.
She never stole from anyone who needed the money, always choosing to target college kids with daddy’s money, or old, seedy business men who leered at the omega bartenders at bars. Her invisibility cap came in handy in these moments, because even when her fingers got too heavy in a back pocket, they would turn and stare straight through her without a clue that she was standing five inches from their face.
She picked up little souvenirs for Percy in every state she visited. He always liked to see things out of Manhattan, and it pained her that he couldn’t be with her. She kept her digital camera on her, and took pictures of every little thing she thought he would be interested in. An odd looking fish in Virginia? She took a picture. A Greek themed building in North Carolina? She took a picture. An illusion to Poseidon on sea food restaurants menu? She took a picture.
The most painful place to go had been Florida. There was just so much ocean, and she couldn’t catch a whiff of the sea without tearing up. Percy had always smelled like candy to her, but with a hint of sea salt, and when he was angry it changed to the scent of a brewing storm with a hint of acidity. When she was younger, she had thought him the best smelling omega in the world, a notion she still upheld as she stared out the murky depths of the Gulf of Mexico.
There were houses on the water, just a few hundred feet away from the ocean. They were no doubt very expensive, with their huge, clear windows, and fancy cars parked to the side, waxy new paint jobs glittering like diamonds in the sun. She could imagine Percy sitting on the porch, a baby on his knee as she got ready to go to work. He would be able to walk their baby down to the water, show them all the sea animals. Percy would love to live on the beach, especially with how far it was from the city and Camp Half-Blood.
She shook the thought out of her head, and began to gather sea shells to put them in a ziploc bag, shoving them into the front pocket of the rapidly overflowing backpack she kept in the trunk.
**
In month five, she reached California.
For some reason, she had a good feeling about California. The past five months had been a constant stream of disappointment. Every time she had a feeling that Percy was near, it would evaporate, and she would be left standing in an alleyway, in front of a museum, at the back of a church—it had happened so many times she had lost count.
But California was different. There was something special about California, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it.
She guessed her parents were there, also.
Her dad and step mom were worried like anyone else. She didn’t keep a mobile phone on her, so she called her family and friends whenever she could, which was typically once or twice a month. Every time her dad heard from her, she could feel the palpable relief radiating from the other line. She wasn’t as close to her step mom, but their relationship had starkly improved since those early days where Helen was always terrified that the monsters targeting Annabeth would switch sights to her own kids.
When she knocked on the door, Helen answered. She had aged in the year Annabeth had seen her, and she couldn’t help but slightly blame herself. Most of Helen’s skin was still flawless, smooth and a healthy brown color than shone, but there were the slightest signs of wrinkles folding the skin under her eyes, and her sleek black hair was now streaked with shots of white.
“Hey, honey,” Helen said, reaching out to Annabeth to give her a side hug. “Come inside. I’ve made you spaghetti. I know you always used to love that when you were younger. I’ll go get your father. I think he thought you were coming tomorrow.”
Annabeth had never really felt at home in their house, and now wasn’t an exception. Being a future architect, she had a lot of opinions on the design of homes, and theirs had always been too boxy, too artificial with enough glass to make it feel like a museum display case rather than a house. The interior design wasn’t her style either. She liked more Victorian—stuff with style and purpose. Helen was a beige favoring minimalist, and her dad didn’t have an opinion, so the house was all neutral tones and faceless, lineless artwork.
Mr. Chase entered the kitchen, almost falling over a chair in his vigor. He straightened out his button up, and straightened his glasses before sitting down across from her. He also looked older, his beard graying around the edges and his brown creases and heavy as he looked at her.
“Hey, Beth,” he said, folding his hands together. “I’m glad to see you, you look…”
She knew he was trying to find a word that wasn’t a synonym to bad while also trying not to lie. She didn’t think she looked awful, and she knew she looked much better than when Percy had first disappeared. She had gained maybe five pounds back from the fifteen she had lost, and she had started brushing her hair again after she got tired of the odd looks the matted hair had garnered in public places. There were still dark circles under her eyes, and her nails were bitten down to the quick, her cuticles sore and red.
“I can’t stay for long,” she said apologetically. “I was going to look for Percy on the beaches—”
Mr. Chase coughed, turning red when Annabeth looked at him pointedly. “Sweetie,” he said. “It’s been five months since Percy disappeared.”
“And?” she said coldly, her skin going prickly.
Her dad wrung his hands. “Well,” he began.
Helen entered, and was about to head to the big pot of spaghetti on the stove, but Mr. Chase shot her a look. Promptly, Helen fled the kitchen, as if this was something they had rehearsed. “I don’t think Percy would like to see you wasting away like this.”
“Percy doesn’t like a lot of things I do,” Annabeth retorted. “Sometimes, I have to do things he disapproves of for the greater good.”
“But wouldn’t he want you to go back to New York? Or, to be with his family? I—”
“Look, Dad—” She rubbed her face with both of her hands.
Nobody understood what she felt because her and Percy weren’t mated. But it didn’t matter if their connection wasn’t physical, they had the emotional bond of four years to take the place of a stupid bite mark. She had not only lost her partner, but she had lost her best friend, and there was a giant, raw hole in her chest that pulsed every time someone said his name, and it never stopped aching. She could never shake away the feel of a dark cloud that constantly shadowed her. It was like Percy had been the water she needed to survive, and without him, she was constantly thirsty, slowly dying of dehydration.
“There’s no one else for me out there,” she said sternly. “I either find him, or I find a body. And until then, I will not stop.”
Mr. Chase looked at her, face full of pity. “I figured I might as well try to convince you, but I respect your decision. You and Percy were—I’m sorry, are—perfect for each other.” He turned to look at the window, his eyes sad.
“Thank you,” Annabeth replied.
Helen cautiously came back in, and Annabeth couldn’t help but wonder if she had been listening at the door. She served Annabeth a plate of spaghetti and homemade cheesy garlic bread, and Annabeth knew, objectively, the taste was good, but it felt like ash on her tongue.
That night, as Annabeth slept in her parents’ guest room, she was gripped by a terrifying nightmare of Percy fighting two gorgons. He was valiant at first, filled with energy and prowess, but then one of their claws sunk into his mortal spot, and he collapsed on the ground, green eyes lifeless. She woke up in a cold sweat.
She left the house at two in the morning, leaving a note that said: Sorry, Dad, I’ll call you later. Love you.
**
Halfway through month six, she returned back to Camp Halfblood.
She told herself it was because she was running out of suppressants, and she didn’t want to be a prowling, angry alpha in a rut, frightening omegas and making them uncomfortable. Percy would kill her if she did that. But, the truth was, she was slowly losing hope that she would ever find Percy, and she didn’t want to be alone as that despair set it.
Malcolm, whose nose was very promptly straight despite their little hiccup a few months prior, and Chiron met her at the front, and very graciously did not mention her leaving with barely any warning. They welcomed her back, and gave her old bunk back.
“Do you want to be the head—”
She didn’t even let Malcolm finish. “No.”
Malcolm furrowed his eyebrows, his lips pressing into a thin line at her prompt answer. “What? You’ve been a counselor for like, ten years.”
She just shrugged. “I don’t know how long I’m going to stay, and I don’t want you to be screwed over if I decide to leave again.”
“Oh,” he said. She could tell he wanted to say more, but was remembering what had previously happened when he had overstepped his boundaries. “Okay.”
Within the first week of being back at Camp, she had a terrible nightmare. She dreamt that she was on the 600th floor of the Empire State Building, Percy lifeless in her arms, while Luke/Kronos cackled in the back, gloating that she may have won the battle, but he had won the war because she had lost Percy, the one thing that had mattered when nothing else did. She woke up sweating in her tanktop, the sounds of her siblings snoring around her jarring her bones and making her teeth gnash. She quickly stepped out of bed and slipped her sweats on, not even bothering to put on a bra before she left.
She went to the subway system. Her and Percy had used to just ride around the city, jumping off at random stops to find a random place to have a date at. It was how they had found their favorite coffee place where Percy ordered a chai honey latte and she got two espresso shots, something Percy always made fun of her for.
It wasn’t busy at all when she entered, but she still got a few odd looks for being in her sleeping clothes, but she didn’t care. She walked right over to the map to try and figure out where exactly she wanted to go. She wouldn’t mind going round and round the track for the rest of the night as long as it kept her mind off of the image of Percy’s lifeless body.
“Romans… how dare they… disgrace me, disgrace me—”
Annabeth’s eyebrows scrunched together, and she looked at the person approaching her.
“Mom?”
Athena didn’t look good. Annabeth had learned from Malcolm that the gods had stopped responding to prayers and Mr. D had been called back to Olympus, signalling some kind of distress. She hadn’t given it too much thought. She never prayed to her mom unless it was an absolute necessity. It wasn’t that she disliked her mother, per say, but she had always been Athena more than she had been Mom, and she was always very aware of that fact.
Even though they weren’t close, Annabeth could tell something was wrong. Her hair was in disarray, her eyes flashing between gold and gray. She was pulling at the edges of her ratty T-shirt, which looked two sizes too small. Her undereyes were dark, like Annabeth’s, and her lips were cracked and raw.
Athena’s eyes snapped to her. “War is coming. They’ll fight again. My head hurts. Why can you all never get along—” She hit herself in the temple with the heel of her hand, groaning.
“I don’t understand,” Annabeth said. “What are you doing here?”
Athena didn’t respond, but she reached out and grabbed Annabeth by the shoulders, shaking her. “Avenge me,” she hissed. “They think they can turn me Roman? I am Greek . They give all their war strategy credit to that bitch Bellona—”
“Mom!” Annabeth snapped. “What the fuck are you going on about?”
Athena reeled back, seething. “You’re too caught up with that Perseus boy,” she accused venomously. “All my other children would love to find the Mark of Athena. They would be honored , but you are just caught up on some stupid omega—”
“Don’t you dare,” Annabeth growled. Their interaction must have been covered by the Mist, because their conversation was increasing in volume, but nobody was looking. Even if they were, she didn’t think that she would care. How dare Athena call Percy stupid?
"Poseidon's boy of all people,” Athena added. “Traitor. Blood traitor. Betrayal of flesh. You are not my daughter.”
There had been a time where those words would have torn through Annabeth like a knife, but she felt nothing but unbridled anger at the words. “Do you know what I have done for you?” she hissed. “I brought you glory. I brought you pride . No matter what you did to me. No matter how much you didn’t help me, I continued to praise you. I continued to trust you, and put my faith into you.”
“The Mark of Athena is the only thing that can bring me glory,” Athena continued without a beat. Her eyes were flashing once again. “My children—you have to find it—”
“No.” Annabeth was shocked at her own words. “Until I find Percy, I will not find your stupid mark. As you just said, I’m not your daughter. I don’t think I ever was, because you’re not a mother. You’re a surrogate at the very most. So if you want me to do you a favor, then I better get my omega back.”
Athena ran her hands through her hair, her fingers catching through her hair. “Should have made you a beta. Alphas are territorial, always want something—”
“You’re an alpha, Athena,” Annabeth retorted.
“And I can control myself!” Athena yelled. She groaned, and pressed her hands into each side of her head like she had gotten a head splitting migraine. “Hurts. Disgrace me. Disgrace me. Disgrace—”
“I’m going,” Annabeth said coolly. She turned back to the subway, which had just pulled to a screeching halt in the terminal. Athena kept mumbling about disgrace, Romans, and her mark, her words falling together in a slur of discombobulated speech. She swallowed as she looked at her mom, trying not to feel bad. She didn’t know why she felt bad about potentially hurting Athena’s feelings; Athena had never cared about her emotions before. She just always asked for more, and more, and more. “It’s parents like you that make me understand like Luke turned.”
And with that, she stepped onto the subway train.
**
It was month eight when she finally got a lead.
“Go to New Mexico,” Hera whispered to her in the dark, so faint it could have been mistaken for a gust of wind. Annabeth wasn’t even sure if it was actually Hera, or just her finally jumping off the deep end. “It’s time for you to find him.”
She didn’t care if it wasn’t real. If she had a chance, she would take it. It had been eight months, and the pain hadn’t gotten any less real. She still felt Percy’s absence in her bones, like she had suffered a chronic injury and was still feeling the fatigue. Everywhere she went, she felt like there was a huge puzzle piece that had been carved from her side, and no matter what, nothing could fit in that empty space like he did.
So, within the next hour, she was ready to go to New Mexico. Percy had to be there.
She didn’t know what she would do if he wasn’t.