Chapter 67
The celebration roared around us, a tide of blue shirts and triumphant shouts, but the icy water of the creek seemed to seep into my bones. Percy stood beside me, his knuckles white on the hilt of his sword. Annabeth's gray eyes were calm, analytical, as if our near-mutilation had been a particularly interesting chess move.
"You used us as bait," Percy said, his voice low and tight.
"I used you as a *distraction*," Annabeth corrected, tucking her Yankees cap under her arm. "A strategically placed, high-value target. Clarisse's pride is her greatest weakness. She couldn't resist the chance to take you both down herself. It pulled her entire patrol out of position, leaving the flank wide open for Luke."
I wiped a streak of mud from my cheek, the adrenaline turning into a cold, sharp anger. "You heard that growl. That presence. Something else was out there, Annabeth. Not just Ares kids. We felt it."
For a fraction of a second, her confident mask slipped. A flicker of something—uncertainty, maybe concern—crossed her face. "The woods are full of noises during Capture the Flag," she said, but it sounded rehearsed. "Probably a hellhound scenting the fight. It retreated when the Ares cabin showed up."
"It retreated *before* they showed up," I countered. "It felt… different."
Percy nodded, glaring at the spot where the growl had originated. "And since when do we not need shields against a five-foot spear? My skin's not *that* tough. That was *him*." He gestured at me.
Annabeth's gaze shifted to me, truly assessing me for the first time since I'd arrived at camp. The invisible shield I'd woven from creek water, the way Percy's skin had glimmered with a protective sheen just as Clarisse struck—none of it had escaped her.
"The water manipulation. The defensive magic," she mused, almost to herself. "Chiron mentioned you had unique abilities. He didn't specify they were so… combat-ready."
"We got lucky," I said flatly, not wanting to become her next strategic experiment.
"Athena doesn't believe in luck," she replied, the familiar smugness returning. "Only in prepared minds utilizing available assets. And today, you were a very effective asset." She looked between us, from Percy's stormy expression to my stony one. "You're angry. Good. Use it. Next time, you'll know not to just stand there and wait to be surrounded. You'll anticipate the play."
"There won't be a next time," Percy muttered.
Annabeth actually smiled, a thin, challenging curve of her lips. "This is Camp Half-Blood. There's *always* a next time."
She turned and melted back into the cheering crowd, leaving us standing in the quiet rush of the creek. The joyful noise felt distant, muffled. We had won. We were heroes. And we had never felt more like pawns.
Percy finally lowered his sword. "You okay?"
I let the water shield dissipate, the droplets falling back into the stream with a soft sigh. "Yeah. Just peachy." I looked toward the dark line of the woods. The celebratory bonfire was being lit, casting long, dancing shadows. But somewhere in those shadows, I was certain, something with a low canine growl was still watching. And it hadn't been interested in the Ares cabin at all.
"Come on," Percy said, his shoulders slumping with post-battle weariness. "I smell barbecue. And I really want to see Clarisse's face when they hand the banner to Luke."
We trudged out of the water, the weight of the unspoken hanging between us. We had survived the Minotaur. We had survived Clarisse. But the feeling of being stalked, first by an unseen beast and then by Annabeth's ruthless strategy, left a deeper chill. The game was over. But the real test, it seemed, had only just begun.