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The weight of the celestial bronze knife felt heavier in Percy's hand than it ought to have, as if it contained the whole of Annabeth underneath its weathered surface. The metal was freezing on his uncovered skin, but he refused to put it away—it was the only piece of Annabeth he could touch, and he couldn't bear to part with it. Not so soon after the nightmare, anyway.
He'd woken up in his cabin, alone and terrified, hoping that the dream had been just a dream. Annabeth's voice rung in his ears, pleading and pained. He'd gotten up, scrabbled in the dark for Annabeth's knife, and sneaked out to the pier. Now, he was sitting on a mound of snow, his pants soaked, the cold breeze stinging his cheeks.
It was his first night back at camp after everything that had gone down, and it was about to be his last. He was itching to leave, to go out there and search for Annabeth. He didn't need a quest or a stupid prophecy—whatever the Oracle had to say, he would go and find her regardless. If it wasn't written in the stars, then he would pick up a pen and finish the damn stanza himself: And thus, Percy Jackson will save Annabeth Chase. The end.
Okay, so, maybe he wasn't exactly Apollo when it came to the art of prophecy. Or poetry. But whatever, the point still stood—a withered mummy spewing green smoke and doling out vague fortunes wasn't going to determine whether or not he could leave and save Annabeth from whatever torture Luke was putting her through.
The image of Annabeth kneeling under the weight of something struck him again, and he could almost feel the pressure of the invisible mass, heavy and dense, pushing down his own shoulders.
And if he could get away from that stuck up hunter, Zoë, and Thalia… Well. It would probably improve his mood.
A sudden noise sounded behind him, the crunch of a boot stepping on a snow-covered branch jolting Percy from his musings. He turned around. Then he groaned.
Speak of the devil, and she shall appear.
"You're up late, Seaweed Brain."
Percy ground his teeth. "Don't call me that." The silent 'only Annabeth gets to call me that' was left unsaid, but they both knew it was there, lingering in the distance between them.
Thalia was dressed in her day clothes—combat boots, leather jacket, the works, like she hadn't even tried to go to sleep. Her expression was unreadable, but she didn't seem surprised to find Percy at the pier. It was predictable, he supposed, that he wouldn't exactly be getting in his beauty sleep while Annabeth was out there, somewhere, in need of help.
Percy turned back toward the Long Island Sound, not yet frozen over. He heard Thalia step closer, her scuffed boots stopping right beside him, though she didn't sit down to join him.
"I wondered who'd picked that up," Thalia said, and Percy tensed, his grip tightening on the knife he was still holding. "I could take it off your hands, if you'd like."
"No," Percy said, his tone leaving no room for argument. For Thalia's credit, she didn't push it.
Thalia sighed, shifting on her feet. "I wanted to say I'm sorry." She sounded like someone had to extract the words from between her teeth, and Percy was taken aback by the sudden, uncharacteristic apology. He couldn't help but look up at her, surprised.
"For what?"
Thalia kicked the snow with the tip of her boot, her hands buried in her jacket pockets."For saying it was your fault, what happened to Annabeth. Honestly, if I was in your shoes, I… I probably would've done the same. Chased after Dr. Thorn, I mean."
"Oh. Uh, thanks. But you were right—I shouldn't have gone out there alone. It was a bad call."
"Maybe. But it wasn't why Annabeth fell. So… I'm sorry."
Percy bit his lip.
After Thalia had miraculously come back to life and been sufficiently briefed on the events of the past six years, he had been relieved she hadn't immediately switched sides and tried to kill him. Still, it had been hard to accept her return, and even harder to see how much it had affected Annabeth.
She'd lost Thalia for six years, been tormented by guilt for all that time, and had to deal with the fallout of Luke's actions without her. And now, Thalia just sauntered back into her life like nothing had changed, like Annabeth was still the seven-year-old little girl she'd been running around with on the road, like Luke hadn't turned into a monster.
He didn't hate Thalia. Anyone so fiercely protective of the people he cared about (Annabeth) got an automatic transfer to the 'I don't dislike you' column in his brain. But he was wary of her. Her presence tended to make his anxiety skyrocket, and the fact that she'd been out there, alone, searching for Luke, made alarm bells start going off in his head.
So, they weren't exactly on great terms. It wasn't like Thalia fully trusted him, either. But she was out here, in the cold, extending him an olive branch. It was only fair he took it.
"It's okay," he said. "Thanks, though. It wasn't your fault, either, you know?"
Thalia nodded. "I know. Thanks."
"The only one to blame here is Luke."
Thalia stiffened beside him. Percy swore he could feel actual electricity in the air, emanating off her body. "Luke wasn't the one who took her—Dr. Thorn did," she said, in a way that made it clear she was holding back from saying more.
Percy looked up at her, incredulous. "Well, he's the one keeping her."
Thalia frowned. "How do you know that?"
"Because–" because I saw it in a dream, Percy finished in his head. But he didn't want to talk about the dream. Not with Thalia. "Because Dr. Thorn works for Luke."
"He works for Kronos."
"Luke works for Kronos!" Percy spat and sprung up from the ground, too heated to sit down, and too angry to stay so close to Thalia. He took a few steps toward the water's edge, leaving her behind his back. "He's basically Kronos's right-hand-man. And who knows what he's doing to her right now."
"Luke wouldn't hurt her."
Percy wheeled around. He could feel the water swishing by his feet, licking at his heels like an anxious dog, mirroring his agitation. "He already has. He's changed, Thalia. I know you haven't seen him in a long time, but he's not the Luke you knew six years ago."
Thalia pursed her lips. Every muscle in her body seemed taut, charged with energy. "You don't know Luke like I do."
Percy looked at her with wide-eyed wonder, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't get it," he breathed out. "What does he need to do to make you understand what he's become? Why do you still care about him so much?"
Thalia's eyes were a bottomless pit, and Percy couldn't tell if the brief flashes of emotion he saw in them were anger or grief.
"Well, clearly, I'm not the only one who does," she deflected the question, gesturing at the bronze knife in Percy's hand.
Percy stilled. The water behind him retreated, as if afraid. "What do you mean?"
Thalia's brows shot up to her hairline, and something crossed her face, a look Percy couldn't decipher.
"Oh, did she never tell you?" she asked, her tone taking on an unmistakably mocking lilt. "That knife you've been carrying around like a sorrowful widow was Luke's first. He gave that to her. And seeing how she didn't toss it away when—as you say—Luke became Kronos's right-hand man, it looks like Annabeth still cares about him, too." Thalia walked toward Percy until she was standing only a few inches from him. Percy felt a tightening in his gut as his reflexes reached for the water behind him, and Thalia's skin prickled with tiny, electric shocks that sparked in the space between them. "And she's a wise one, that girl," she continued. "I'd follow her lead if I were you."
For a moment, neither of them moved. Water and lightning regarded one another, uncertain which one would strike first.
Then, the almost venomous look in Thalia's eyes cleared, and she stepped back. She glanced at the now still water behind him, opened her mouth as if to say something, closed it before she could, and walked off without a word.
It wasn't until Percy could no longer hear the sound of combat boots stomping on snow that he felt like he could breathe again.
The bronze knife felt even heavier in his hand.