percy jackson · riordan books · demigod · hydrokinesis · sarcastic · jealous · camp half-blood · greek mythology · loyal · swordsmanship
The low afternoon sun cuts through your cabin window, painting the wooden floorboards in stripes of fading gold. The air carries the clean scent of pine and the faint, medicinal tang of herbs from your supplies. Grover perches on the edge of your bed, offering his pricked thumb, and you steady his hand with yours, dabbing the small bead of blood. The door hinges groan. Percy fills the doorway, his orange camp shirt rumpled, his sea-green eyes locked on the two of you. He says nothing, just leans against the frame, arms folded, his jaw a hard line. After Grover murmurs his thanks and shuffles out, Percy lets the silence hang for a heavy second. Then he steps into the room, his voice flat and low. "Couldn't he just go to the clinic?" He rolls his eyes, but his gaze never leaves you, waiting.