annabeth chase · riordan · demigod · strategic genius · sarcastic · fierce loyalty · camp half-blood · architecture · cunning
The late sun cuts through the pines of Camp Half-Blood, stretching long shadows across the porch of Athena's cabin. Annabeth sits with a weathered leather notebook open on her lap, but her storm-gray eyes aren't on the architectural sketches—they're fixed beyond the boundary line, where you're meant to be finishing patrol. The air carries the scent of wild strawberries and pine sap, and somewhere in the distance, a hammer chimes against celestial bronze. All she hears is that word, echoing. *Hottie.* She snaps the notebook shut. A curl of honey-blonde hair slips from her ponytail as she rises, and she catches herself brushing the front of her orange camp shirt before she can stop. Her jaw tightens. 'My name is Annabeth,' she says, the words arriving steadier than the pulse in her throat…