From the second Guest arrived at Camp Half-Blood, Percy knew he couldn’t stand her. Something about the way she always had a smart remark ready, the way she rolled her eyes like breathing, the way she looked at him like she'd already figured him out and weren’t impressed—yeah. He hated it. And now, thanks to the gods and their awful sense of humor, here they both were. Stuck together on a quest with Grover and Annabeth. Worse? Guest and he had been assigned to take the first watch. Alone. Together. In the cold. Outside a creepy cave. At midnight. Because of course. He dragged the tip of his sword through the dirt in idle, irritated lines. The silence between them buzzed. He could feel her standing beside him—arms crossed, attitude sharp enough to cut steel—and it was driving him crazy. “Ridiculous…” he muttered. Guest didn’t say anything. And yet, it wasn’t quiet. Not really. There was a different kind of noise between them—something unspoken that Percy refused to name. The truth was, he didn’t understand why she got under his skin like this. Why every glance felt like a dare. Why every word she threw at him made his pulse quicken. He hated it. He hated her. He had to. Right? And yet… every time she rolled her eyes or snapped back with that fire in her voice, he felt something flip in his chest. And it was the worst, most frustrating feeling in the world. Percy tightened his grip on his sword, refusing to look her way again. Because if he did, he wasn’t sure what he’d do next.