Chapter Text
The last thing Percy remembered aboard the Princess Andromeda was the white hot sting of Backbiter’s tip punching into his stomach.
The impact had knocked the air out of him. His back slammed against the elevator wall. Hard, metallic, and freezing even through his shirt. He remembered the sound more than the pain: a dull, hollow clang that echoed inside his skull. Warmth spread under his ribs, soaking into the fabric, sticky and heavy as blood oozed through his shirt. In the blur, he’d seen it — the faint golden glow of the Fleece somewhere beyond his shoulder, shimmering like a mirage he could almost reach.
Then everything folded inward.
Darkness.
He woke to screaming.
Not just yelling, but furious, inventive cussing, the kind that carried across metal corridors and vibrated through the ship’s hull.
Percy’s eyes snapped open, his lungs dragging in a sharp breath that immediately burned. For a second the world tilted, swimming in shadows and dim orange light.
His arms were stretched above his head.
Pain shot through his shoulders before he even understood why. He tried to move and metal bit into his wrists. Handcuffs. Too tight. The steel ring dug into bone, chafing skin raw, locking his hands around a horizontal pipe bolted into the ceiling. He was forced half sitting, half hanging, his weight pulling downward on joints that already ached.
The floor beneath him was cold metal grating. Every shift scraped his knees and sent a vibration up his spine. The air smelled like oil, rust, and saltwater, the stale breath of a ship that had spent too long at sea. Around him, crates were stacked shoulder high, lashed together with thick rope and netting. Barrels, supply boxes, and spare parts formed a cramped barricade, like he’d been shoved into a storage hold no one was meant to find easily.
There was barely any light. Just a weak strip spilling in from an open doorway down the corridor. And that was where the noise was coming from.
Clarisse.
She was being dragged through the doorway by Aiden and three Laestrygonian giants. Even hunched to fit inside the ship, the monsters’ shoulders brushed the metal walls, their footsteps making the deck groan. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, the same restraints as Percy’s, and she was fighting them every step, boots screeching against the floor as she tried to dig her heels in.
“Let go of me, you perfume soaked coward!” she snapped, twisting violently enough that one of the giants had to grab her upper arm.
Aiden didn’t even look winded. The son of Aphrodite walked backward, one hand gripping the chain between her cuffs, smiling like this was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.
Percy tried to stand. The moment he pushed up, the cuffs yanked tight and metal sliced into his wrists. His shoulders screamed and his vision spotted. He barely caught himself before collapsing back onto the grating with a sharp clatter of chains.
Clarisse was shoved forward.
Aiden slammed her against the pipe bolted into the wall across from Percy. The impact rang through the compartment, metal on metal. She grunted but didn’t cry out. One of the giants secured her cuffs to the bar, locking her in place facing Percy just a few feet away.
For a moment, she froze. Her eyes found his.
All the fury in her face flickered into something else. Quick, sharp recognition, her making sure he was alive. Percy felt his chest loosen a fraction despite the pain still twisting under his ribs. Then her expression hardened again instantly.
She jerked against the cuffs, rattling the chain loudly. “When I get out of this,” she growled at Aiden, “I’m going to personally introduce your face to a war hammer.”
Aiden leaned casually against a crate, clearly enjoying himself.
“Oh, please,” he said lightly. “You’ve been threatening me for five minutes. You’ll have to be more creative.”
Clarisse smirked, teeth flashing. “Fine. I’ll start with your nose.”
Aiden tilted his head, studying her the way someone might study an interesting animal that kept trying to bite.
“You know,” he said casually, “you’d be a lot less uncomfortable if you just… stopped fighting.”
Clarisse jerked against the cuffs in response, the chain snapping tight with a loud metallic crack. “I’m not uncomfortable,” she shot back. “I’m waiting.”
“For what?” he asked mildly.
“For you to get closer.”
One of the giants laughed under his breath. Aiden’s smile widened, but Percy saw the shift. The easy amusement sharpened into focus. Aiden stepped closer. The corridor light framed him, warm and soft, and when he spoke again his voice dropped into something smoother.
“Clarisse.”
Percy felt it before he even processed the word.
The air pressed inward. A faint ringing filled his ears, like diving too deep underwater. The sound slid through his head and down his spine, heavy and persuasive. It didn’t feel like a suggestion, it felt reasonable. Like the most obvious idea in the world.
For a split second Percy’s muscles loosened against his will. The ache in his shoulders faded under a creeping calm and a thought surfaced, gentle and dangerous:
You could just stop resisting.
He sucked in a sharp breath and forced himself to focus on the bite of the cuffs cutting into his wrists, the throb of the stab wound in his stomach, the smell of rust and saltwater on grounding himself in pain so the voice wouldn’t smooth everything away.
Across from him, Clarisse had gone still. Too still. Aiden crouched slightly so they were eye level, voice warm and almost kind.
“You don’t want to be stuck like this,” he murmured. “You want out of the cuffs right?”
Clarisse’s breathing slowed. Her shoulders lowered as tension bled out of her muscles. Her eyes lost focus, staring through him instead of at him.
“Yeah,” she muttered.
Percy’s pulse slammed. “Clarisse—”
"Then get out of them." Aiden said simply.
Her wrists twisted behind her back.
At first Percy thought she was trying to slip out. Then she forced her hands downward. The cuffs didn’t have space. She pushed anyway.
The metal dug into her wrists as she tried to compress her hand, forcing her thumb inward at a brutal angle. Her knuckles whitened instantly. The chain rattled violently as she shoved harder, muscles straining, trying to obey the command no matter the cost.
“Clarisse stop!” Percy shouted, chains jerking as he lunged forward.
She didn’t react.
Her jaw clenched so tight it trembled. A low sound escaped her throat. Not quite a yell, more a strangled growl as she twisted her wrist further. Percy heard the awful grinding pop of joints under pressure. Her thumb bent the wrong way. She shoved again.
The cuff cut into her skin but she didn’t seem to feel it, her entire body shaking with effort as she tried to force bone through unyielding steel. Another sickening crack echoed softly in the compartment as the joint nearly gave.
Even the giants shifted uneasily. Aiden’s smile faltered.
“Hey,” he said, straightening. “Clarisse… stop.”
She kept pushing, breath hitching, eyes still unfocused.
“I said stop!”
The pressure in Percy’s head snapped away instantly. The ringing vanished, leaving a sharp headache behind his eyes.
Clarisse blinked. For half a second she looked confused. Then the pain hit.
Her body jerked violently and she gasped, collapsing forward against the restraints as far as they allowed. Her injured hand spasmed uncontrollably, fingers trembling, held at a crooked angle she couldn’t seem to fix.
Aiden stared at her, unsettled now, his voice quieter. “I told you to stop before you hurt yourself.”
Clarisse sucked in a shaky breath, forcing her eyes up to him. The fury came back all at once.
“Next time,” she rasped, clutching her hand against the chain despite the restraints, “stay out of my head.”
For a second the compartment was silent except for the steady hum of the ship’s engines and Clarisse’s uneven breathing.
She leaned her forehead briefly against the cold metal pipe, eyes squeezed shut, jaw tight as she tried to steady the tremor running through her arm. Her injured hand hung uselessly behind her back, fingers twitching every few seconds. Even in the dim light Percy could see the swelling already rising across her knuckles.
Aiden shifted his weight, the unease still lingering on his face though he tried to hide it. “You did that to yourself,” he said, quieter now, almost like he was convincing himself.
Clarisse let out a shaky breath that turned into a humorless laugh. “You literally told me to.”
“I told you to get out of the cuffs,” he said defensively. “Not to break your hand.”
“Yeah?” She lifted her head, eyes burning. “That’s what happens when you hijack somebody’s brain.”
Percy pulled at his restraints again, metal biting deeper into his wrists. “Leave her alone.”
Aiden finally looked at him. For a moment his expression hardened back into smugness, but Percy noticed it wasn’t as effortless as before.
“You’re awake longer than I expected, son of Poseidon,” he said lightly. “That stab wound should’ve kept you out.”
Percy ignored it. “You almost crippled her.”
Aiden shrugged, though his gaze flicked once more to Clarisse’s shaking hand. “She’ll live.”
Clarisse straightened as much as the cuffs allowed, shoulders squaring through obvious pain. “When I get loose,” she rasped, “you won’t.”
One of the giants shifted impatiently. “Boss, we done?”
Aiden didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he studied them.
His eyes moved between Percy straining against the restraints and Clarisse glaring despite the pain, both exhausted, injured, furious… and still defiant. The amusement slowly returned, but it wasn’t the same playful mocking as before. It was quieter. Calculating.
Percy felt a cold unease creep up his spine.
Aiden stepped closer to Percy and crouched again.
The air shifted.
Not the overwhelming pressure from before, just a brush, like fingers testing a locked door. Percy’s pulse quickened automatically, instincts tightening as that familiar pull grazed his thoughts. He forced himself to focus on the ache in his stomach and the bite of the cuffs.
“You know,” Aiden said softly, almost thoughtfully, “this would be easier if you cooperated.”
Percy stared past him at the crates behind his shoulder.
“Tell me where the others are,” Aiden continued, voice warm and coaxing. “You don’t actually want them getting hurt.”
For a terrifying second Percy’s mind tried to answer. The words almost formed, not because he wanted to, but because the suggestion felt right.
Across from him, Clarisse slammed her shoulder into the pipe. The metal rang loudly.
Percy’s focus snapped back. He clenched his teeth. “Go to Tartarus.”
Clarisse smirked weakly. “Nice.”
A slow realization crossed his face, subtle, but unmistakable. His eyes lingered on the chains, on the distance between them, on the way Percy instinctively reacted to protect Clarisse and how she responded immediately to him even through pain. Something clicked behind his expression.
His smile returned. Not amused. Inspired.
“Interesting,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Percy frowned. “What?”
Aiden straightened, brushing off his hands. For a brief moment he looked almost pleased, like he’d just solved a puzzle no one else could see.
“Never thought I'd see the day you two become friends,” he said lightly.
"We're not." Clarisse said, almost instinctively.
But Aiden didn’t believe her. The look lingered, a flicker of anticipation, before he turned toward the door.
“Enjoy the accommodations,” he added coolly. “We’ll see how long the attitude lasts.”
He paused in the doorway and glanced back one last time, gaze moving between them again, thoughtful.
“Oh… and try not to hurt yourselves again,” he said casually. “I might need you in better condition later.”
The door slammed shut.
Darkness swallowed most of the light, leaving only a thin line beneath the frame. His footsteps faded down the corridor.
For a few seconds neither Percy nor Clarisse spoke.
Then Percy exhaled. “You okay?”
Clarisse shifted, suppressing a hiss. “Fantastic,” she muttered. “Five-star hospitality.”
Percy couldn’t shake the image of Aiden’s face just before he left, not angry, not frustrated. Satisfied. Like he’d just figured out exactly how to use them.
The ship creaked around them, the hull groaning softly with each wave. Somewhere far above, something heavy slid across the deck with a dull scrape. Percy shifted, wincing as his stomach pulled. The movement made the dried blood on his shirt tighten against his skin. He swallowed and forced himself to focus.
“Clarisse,” he said quietly. “What happened?”
She lifted her head from where it rested against the pipe. Even in the dimness he could see her eyes tracking him, checking he was actually conscious and not fading again.
“You tell me first,” she said. Her voice was rougher now, less anger, more exhaustion.
Percy exhaled slowly, piecing it together as he spoke. “I found the fleece, but Luke found me.” His jaw tightened.
“I fought him,” Percy continued. “I… didn’t win. But I got past him long enough to grab it. Luke stabbed me through the closing elevator door.” He shook his head slightly. “Then I woke up here.”
Clarisse watched him for a second, processing. “You actually got it?”
“I had it,” Percy said. “I don’t know if they took it or—” His stomach dropped. “They have it, don’t they?”
Clarisse didn’t answer right away.
Her gaze slid briefly toward the door before returning to him. “Yeah,” she said finally. “They’ve got it.”
Percy closed his eyes for a second, a wave of frustration washing through him. “Great.”
He opened them again quickly. “What about you? How’d they catch you?”
Her jaw flexed. “Allison was going to kill Annabeth. I followed them and we were outnumbered. Giants grabbed me.”
Percy nodded slowly, absorbing it. Then the question hit him all at once.
His head snapped up. “Annabeth.”
Clarisse looked at him.
“Where is she?” Percy asked, voice tighter now. “Did they grab her too?”
Clarisse hesitated. And that was enough to make Percy’s chest tighten.
“Clarisse.”
“They separated us,” she said. “Luke has her.”
He clenched his jaw.
“He won’t kill her,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her. “She’s smart. She’s going to get out of this.”
Clarisse studied him for a moment, then snorted softly despite the pain. “Let’s hope so.”
Percy didn’t answer.
Clarisse shifted her weight and immediately hissed under her breath. The movement made the chain rattle and her injured hand jerked again behind her back.
Percy looked up. “How bad is it?”
“Fine,” she said automatically.
Her fingers twitched again.
“Clarisse.”
She was quiet for a moment before muttering, “I can’t make a fist.”
Percy’s stomach sank. “Did you—”
“I didn’t break it,” she cut in quickly, defensive. Then, after a beat: “I almost did.”
The admission hung there. Clarisse didn’t look at him when she said it.
Finally Percy said, “You knew you were doing it, didn’t you?”
Her shoulders tensed. “Yeah.”
“But you couldn’t stop.”
A longer pause.
“No,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t.”
Percy leaned his head back against the pipe behind him, staring into the dim ceiling. “I felt it too.”
Clarisse glanced up. “You didn’t look like it.”
“That’s because he wasn’t talking to me,” Percy said. “And it still almost worked.”
He flexed his hands against the cuffs. The memory made his skin crawl, that warm, reasonable feeling, like his thoughts had been gently rearranged into something he didn’t question.
Her eyes narrowed as she thought about it. “It got stronger when he was closer.”
“And when he said your name first,” Percy added.
She nodded once. “Eye contact too.”
Percy shifted slightly, the movement pulling painfully at his stomach wound. “And pain helped.”
Clarisse blinked. “What?”
“When you slammed your shoulder into the pipe,” Percy said, “it snapped me out of it. I was about to answer him.”
She stared at him. “You were?”
“Yeah.”
For the first time since she’d been dragged in, some of the anger faded from her expression, replaced with something closer to unease.
Percy lowered his voice. “Clarisse… what if he tells me to hurt someone?”
The question hung between them. The ship creaked. Clarisse didn’t joke this time.
“He will,” she said.
Percy looked at her.
“He didn’t interrogate us,” she continued. “Did you notice that? He asked about the others, but he didn’t push. Not really.” Her eyes hardened. “He was testing it.”
Percy felt a cold knot form in his chest. “Testing how far he can make us go.”
“Yeah.”
Another long silence passed.
Finally Percy said quietly, “If I lose control… you have to stop me.”
Clarisse snorted weakly. “I’m handcuffed, Jackson.”
“You know what I mean.”
She studied him for a second, and this time she didn’t look annoyed or competitive — just serious.
“…Same goes for you, I’m not giving you permission to kill me, but if it has to come to it…” she trailed off, didn’t need to finish for Percy to get the hint.
Percy nodded once.
They sat there in the dim hold, chains creaking softly above them, both now listening for something they hadn’t noticed before.
The ship rolled slowly beneath them, a long creak traveling through the metal beams overhead and down into the pipe Percy was chained to. The movement tugged at his shoulders, pulling his weight against the cuffs again. He clenched his teeth as the metal cut into his wrists.
Another wave struck the hull. The floor tilted, just slightly and the crates beside him shifted with a heavy thud. Percy noticed it. He lifted his head a little. The chains rattled softly above him. Clarisse noticed him noticing.
“You thinking or dying?” she muttered.
“Both,” Percy said. He waited through another slow roll of the ship. The pipe groaned faintly as his weight pulled against it again. “…The ship’s movement.”
Clarisse frowned. “What about it?”
“It’s old,” Percy said. “Or at least… not built for this much weight. Every time it rolls, it stresses the fixtures.”
Her eyes moved immediately to the pipe, then to the bolts securing it to the ceiling beam.
War kid brain.
She tested the chain with a short, controlled pull. The metal held, but the pipe gave the faintest, almost inaudible tick. Her gaze sharpened.
“…Do that again.”
Percy shifted his weight experimentally as the next wave rolled under the hull. The pipe strained, not enough to bend, but enough to protest.
Clarisse exhaled slowly. “Okay.”
“What?” Percy asked.
“That’s not welded,” she said. “It’s bolted.”
Percy blinked. “That’s… good?”
“It means it was installed fast,” she replied. “Not permanent. Probably for cargo restraints.” She tested her own restraints, wincing when her injured hand twitched. “We don’t need to break the cuffs. We need to loosen the mount.”
Percy looked up at the bolts. “You want to pull a steel beam out of the ceiling.”
“I want to pull a badly secured steel beam out of the ceiling,” she corrected.
Another wave rolled through the hull.
“On the next one,” she said. “Use your weight. Hard as you can.”
Percy stared at her. “My shoulders are about to detach.”
“Good,” she said flatly. “Then you’re motivated.”
The ship tilted again.
Percy inhaled and let his body drop with the motion, yanking down on the cuffs. Pain exploded through his arms and stomach at the same time. The pipe shrieked softly against its mounts. A metallic clink answered.
Both of them froze.
“Did you hear that?” Percy said.
“Yeah,” Clarisse whispered.
Hope crept into the air.
“Again,” she ordered.
The next wave hit harder.
Percy pulled down with everything he had. The stab wound burned, his vision spotted, and his wrists screamed as the cuffs dug deeper, but the pipe shifted a fraction of an inch.
One of the bolts moved. Not much. But enough.
Clarisse’s expression changed for the first time since she’d been dragged in. Not anger. Not defiance. Focus.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “We can work with that.”
She braced her boots against the crate behind her and threw her weight backward, using the chain as leverage. Her injured hand shook violently but she ignored it, jaw tightening as she pulled in rhythm with the rocking ship. The pipe groaned again.
Percy let out a strained laugh. “This is the dumbest plan I’ve ever—”
“Pull!” she snapped.
He pulled.
The bolt slid another fraction. Percy suddenly became aware of something else.
The ocean.
He could feel it , faint but present, beyond the hull. Pressure. Motion. Endless water surrounding them on all sides. It was right there. Close enough his senses brushed against it like fingertips against glass.
But he couldn’t reach it. Not through the ship. Not while chained. For the first time since learning he was Poseidon’s son, Percy felt completely cut off from it. The realization hit harder than the cuffs. He yanked again anyway.
The bolt loosened another turn.
Clarisse actually smiled, brief and fierce. “We’re doing it.”
Then footsteps. Both of them froze instantly.
Voices carried faintly through the corridor outside the door. More than one person. They weren’t whispering enough.
“…don’t damage them,” one voice said.
Another: “He said they need to stay able to stand.”
Percy held perfectly still, his arms beginning to shake from being locked overhead, but he didn’t dare move. Even the faint rattle of the chain suddenly sounded too loud in the cramped hold.
Clarisse slowly shifted her weight back to a neutral stance, letting the pipe settle into place so it didn’t creak again. Her face had gone completely still, not defiant now, not angry.
Metal scraped softly outside the door. A latch. The door opened.
Light spilled into the storage hold in a harsh strip across the floor, cutting through the darkness and landing directly between them. Percy had to squint. After so long in dimness, it felt blinding.
Two Laestrygonian giants stepped in first, ducking under the frame. Behind them came a mortal man Percy didn’t recognize, tall, thin, wearing dark clothes that were far too clean for a ship like this. He carried a small leather case in one hand.
Percy’s stomach tightened.
The man looked between them with clinical detachment, like he was evaluating equipment rather than people.
“Good,” he said calmly. “They’re conscious.”
Clarisse didn’t answer, but her shoulders squared.
The giants moved forward and stopped a few feet away, close enough to intervene instantly if either of them tried something.
The man set the case on a crate and opened it. Metal instruments glinted inside.
Percy felt a cold prickle crawl up his spine. “What is this?”
The man ignored him and stepped toward Clarisse first.
She jerked instinctively against the cuffs. “Don’t.”
The giant behind her grabbed the chain and held it tight, keeping her from lunging.
The man gently took her injured hand despite her resistance. She hissed, trying to pull back, but the restraints held her in place.
He examined the swelling, rotating her wrist carefully.
She went rigid but refused to make a sound.
“…Nearly dislocated,” he murmured. “Severe strain. Not broken.”
Percy felt relief he didn’t expect, followed immediately by dread when the man opened a small vial.
“What are you doing?” Percy demanded.
The man finally looked at him. “Ensuring usability.”
Clarisse’s eyes flashed. “Try it and I’ll—”
He injected something into her wrist. She gasped sharply as the needle slid in. For a moment nothing happened, then her fingers spasmed and she sucked in a breath, the tension leaving her hand as sensation returned without the sharp edge of pain.
The shaking stopped. She flexed her fingers once, startled.
“…Nectar” the man said. “You’ll retain mobility.”
Percy’s pulse sped up. “Why?”
The man closed the vial calmly. “Because you need to be able to move.”
He stepped over to Percy.
Percy braced instinctively. “I’m fine.”
The man ignored him and peeled back the blood-stiff fabric around the stab wound. The movement sent a bolt of pain through Percy’s stomach and he sucked in a breath.
“…You should not be conscious,” the man muttered.
He poured a cool liquid across the wound. Percy hissed as it burned, then numbed, but he could feel his skin pulling itself together.
“Why keep us alive?” Percy asked quietly.
“Alive?” he said mildly. “Of course.”
He packed the tools away.
“You are not being preserved,” he added.
The case snapped shut.
“You are being prepared for our entertainment.”
He turned and left. The giants followed, the door slamming closed behind them. Darkness fell back into place.
For a long moment neither Percy nor Clarisse spoke. Then Clarisse flexed her hand slowly.
“…I can move it,” she said, unsettled.
Percy looked at the ceiling pipe above them.
“We need to get out of here,” he said quietly.
Clarisse looked at him.
“Yeah,” she said. But this time it wasn’t bravado.
Percy shifted his weight carefully, testing the pull on the cuffs again. The sudden healing in his stomach helped, the stabbing fire was gone, replaced with a deep, throbbing soreness, like a bruise pressed from the inside. When he inhaled now, his ribs expanded fully instead of catching halfway. He hadn’t realized how shallow his breathing had been until it stopped hurting quite so sharply.
Which made it worse.
“They fixed us,” he said quietly.
Clarisse followed his gaze to the pipe overhead. The loosened bolt still sat crooked in its socket, a hairline gap visible where the metal plate no longer sat flush against the beam.
“For a show,” she muttered.
The ship rolled. The pipe groaned, a long, tired complaint of metal under strain.
Her eyes sharpened instantly. “Good. It didn’t settle.”
Hope flickered.
“Again,” she said.
“You just got your hand back.”
“And you just got your insides back,” she shot back. “Pull.”
Another wave lifted the hull. The floor tilted under Percy’s boots, the grating vibrating beneath him.
“Now.”
He dropped his full weight. Pain tore through his shoulders and down his arms, white hot and blinding, but Clarisse moved with him, bracing, yanking, muscles trembling.
The pipe screamed. A sharp metallic crack split the hold. The mount tore free.
The pipe ripped out of the ceiling and crashed between them, sparks briefly snapping where metal scraped metal. Percy fell forward with it, the sudden slack sending him to his knees. Clarisse staggered, catching herself on a crate, breath punching out of her lungs.
They stared at their wrists. Still cuffed. But not anchored.
Percy grabbed the fallen pipe and slammed it against the crate edge. The impact vibrated through his palms. Again, harder, until the bracket warped.
Clarisse pinned the pipe with her boot and twisted violently. The chain scraped, shrieked, then her cuff slid off. She tore the second free with a sharp jerk, sucking in a breath as circulation rushed painfully back into her hands.
Percy smashed his side again. The metal bent just enough. His chain slipped loose. The cuffs fell away.
They were free.
Footsteps approached.
Percy’s hand dove into his pocket. The pen was still there. Relief hit like oxygen. He uncapped it. Riptide unfolded into his grip, cool celestial bronze solid and familiar in his palm. Clarisse grabbed a jagged length of pipe, knuckles whitening around it.
The latch turned. The door opened.
Aiden stepped inside, mid-step, mid-breath—Percy lunged.
The sword cut through the dim air toward his shoulder,
“Clarisse,” Aiden said softly "take care of him."
The word landed like gravity. Percy felt the pressure ripple outward, thick and heavy, vibrating in his teeth and bones, but it slid past him, not meant for him. Clarisse froze beside him.
Then she moved. Her hand slammed into Percy’s wrist. Pain shot up his arm and his fingers opened involuntarily. Riptide clattered across the grating, spinning out of reach.
“Clarisse—!”
The cold steel of her handcuffs snapped across his throat. She wrenched him backward. The chain bit into his neck, crushing his airway. The metal was freezing against his skin, the edges digging under his jaw as she locked her forearm tight and pulled.
Air disappeared.
Percy clawed at the chain, nails scraping uselessly across smooth steel. His lungs seized, chest jerking as he tried to breathe and couldn’t. A thin wheeze forced its way out, nothing more.
He could feel her shaking behind him. Her breathing was ragged, uneven, hot against the back of his neck.
“Stop—” he choked, voice breaking.
“I— I’m trying—” Her arms tightened anyway. The pressure increased. His pulse thundered in his ears, a roaring ocean he couldn’t reach. His vision blurred at the edges, black spots creeping inward. The world tilted. Her foot kicked Riptide farther away, the sword skidding loudly across the metal floor.
Percy’s fingers weakened around the chain. His hands felt numb now, strength draining out of them as the seconds stretched.
Clarisse made a sound, not angry, not defiant. Terrified.
“Stop—” she gasped, desperation now in her voice. “Aiden stop— I can’t—”
Her grip tightened harder, her body obeying while she fought it, muscles trembling violently with the effort to resist her own movement.
“Aiden, please,” she begged, panic rising. “Don’t— don’t do this. Don’t make me—”
Percy’s vision tunneled. Sound dulled. The ship’s creaking faded into a distant hum.
Her words spilled out in broken breaths.
“Don’t put his blood on my hands,” she choked. “I don’t want to kill him— please make me stop—”
Her arms shook uncontrollably as the chain crushed tighter against his throat. He could feel her trying to pull back even as her body held firm, trapped between command and will.
His fingers slipped from the metal.
The world narrowed to a thin gray tunnel. The roaring in his ears drowned out the ship, the giants, everything. His chest spasmed, desperate for air that wouldn’t come.
“Please—” Clarisse’s voice broke completely now. “I’m begging you… don’t make this my fault— Aiden please, I can’t stop—”
Percy’s knees buckled. Her grip held him upright, the cuffs digging deeper into the soft skin beneath his jaw. White flashes burst across his vision, then black, then nothing but pressure.
For a moment Aiden said nothing. He simply watched. Percy could see him dimly through the blur, standing calm in the doorway, expression thoughtful rather than alarmed, like he was observing a test nearing its conclusion.
Clarisse’s breathing dissolved into panicked gasps behind him.
“I’m fighting it!” she choked. “I swear I’m fighting it— I'm sorry— I'm sorry—”
Her arms tightened again involuntarily. The last bit of strength left Percy’s hands. They fell away from the chain.
Aiden tilted his head slightly.
“…Clarisse,” he said, voice soft and clear. “Let him go.”
The pressure vanished.
Her arms snapped open as if yanked by invisible strings. Percy collapsed forward onto his hands and knees, the impact rattling his bones. Air tore into his lungs in a violent gasp that felt like inhaling knives. He coughed hard, throat burning, each breath ragged and uneven as oxygen finally reached his head.
Behind him, Clarisse stumbled backward, the handcuffs clattering as they slipped from her slack fingers. She stared at her hands like they didn’t belong to her.
Aiden stepped fully into the room now, unhurried.
Percy stayed on his hands and knees, coughing hard, each breath scraping his throat raw. His airway still felt crushed, like the shape of the chain was pressed into it from the inside. When he tried to inhale deeply his lungs seized and forced another choking cough out of him. His vision still pulsed faintly at the edges.
Clarisse hovered beside him, hands half-raised but not touching, like she was afraid even the slightest contact might start it again.
“I didn’t mean to—” she said, voice shaking. “I was trying to stop, I swear I was trying—”
Percy lifted one weak hand a few inches. Not a reassurance, just a sign he understood. His voice wouldn’t come. Only a thin rasp escaped his throat.
Aiden watched with quiet interest, head tilted slightly.
“You were resisting,” he said thoughtfully. “More than most do the first time.”
Clarisse’s head snapped toward him. “Don’t.”
Her voice cracked. Not anger, fear.
Percy forced himself to sit up, one hand braced on the crate, the other still at his throat. The skin there burned where the cuffs had dug in. He swallowed and winced.
“You almost killed him,” Clarisse said hoarsely.
Aiden shook his head. “No. I gave a command. You almost killed him.”
Her eyes flicked back to Percy. And she saw it.
The bruising already forming along his neck, darkening beneath the skin where the chain had compressed his airway. The faint tremor still running through his hands. The way he still couldn’t draw a full breath without coughing.
Not theoretical. Not a trick. Her body had done that.
“I was begging you to stop,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Aiden said calmly. “And your body continued anyway.”
Clarisse stared at her hands again. Slowly she flexed them, and her fingers shook.
“I wasn’t holding back,” she said quietly. “I was pulling harder.”
She looked at Percy, horror dawning in full.
“I wasn’t just… stopping him. I was crushing his throat. I felt it.” Her voice lowered, almost to herself. “I knew how much pressure it would take. I was adjusting my grip.”
Percy didn’t answer, because she was right.
It hadn’t been wild panic. It had been controlled. Every second she’d tightened the hold, repositioned the chain, locked her stance, perfect technique. Not an accident. Not flailing. A trained fighter’s restraint executed efficiently.
Aiden folded his hands behind his back.
“I spoke the words,” he said. “But the strength was yours. The precision was yours. The lethality—”
He looked at Percy.
“—was entirely physical. You should be proud, I know Ares would be.”
Clarisse’s breathing grew uneven.
“I was going to kill him,” she said, the realization fully landing now. “Not later. Not eventually.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“I was seconds away.”
Percy remembered it too clearly, the narrowing vision, the loss of sound, his hands slipping from the chain. His body hadn’t been fading slowly. It had been shutting down.
If Aiden had waited just a few more moments—Clarisse swallowed hard, staring at Percy like she didn’t trust herself near him anymore.
“You didn’t do it,” Percy rasped.
Her head shook immediately. “I was going to.”
Aiden watched them both, satisfied.
“That,” he said softly, “is why this will work.”
He turned toward the doorway.
“Come with me.”
No Charmspeak followed. No pressure entered Percy’s thoughts.
And yet, shaken and silent, they followed him into the corridor, both now fully aware of something worse than being prisoners: They weren’t just captives. They were weapons that could be turned on each other and they had already proven it.
The corridor felt colder after that.
Not physically, the same torches burned along the iron walls, the same smoke hung in the air, but the space between Percy and Clarisse had changed. They walked side by side behind Aiden, yet neither drifted too close to the other anymore. Every step of the ship made the floor sway beneath their boots, chains somewhere overhead clinking softly with the motion.
Percy kept one hand near his pocket where Riptide rested as a pen. He didn’t take it out. He didn’t trust what might happen if he did. Clarisse noticed. Her jaw tightened, and she deliberately kept her injured hand at her side, fingers curled inward like she was holding them still by force alone. Neither mentioned it.
The sounds of the ship grew louder as they moved, more voices, rough laughter, the thud of weapons against wood. The smell of saltwater strengthened, wind slipping down the stairwell ahead. Aiden climbed first.
They followed.
With each step upward Percy felt the open night approaching, the faint rush of ocean air, the creak of rigging, the deep rhythmic crash of waves against the hull. The staircase ended and they emerged onto the deck.
The wind hit immediately, cold and damp, whipping Percy’s hair across his forehead. The sky stretched black above them, stars scattered across it and reflected in the dark water rolling endlessly around the ship.
But the deck, the deck was packed.
Torches lined the rails, their flames snapping in the wind and casting shifting light across a crowd of monsters. Laestrygonians stood like pillars near the mast. Dracaenae coiled along the planks, scales glinting. Hellhounds paced at the edges, claws scratching grooves into the wood as their chains dragged behind them.
And between them stood demigods. Watching. Some wore pieces of Camp Half-Blood armor Percy recognized. Some held celestial bronze blades. A few smirked openly as Percy and Clarisse were led forward.
Conversations died as they passed. They weren’t being escorted. They were being presented.
The center of the deck had been cleared, a wide open space illuminated by torchlight. Aiden walked them straight into it and stopped.
Percy felt it then, not Charmspeak, not a pull, but expectation. Every eye fixed on them. Waiting.
He followed the line of sight upward. The stern balcony overlooked the entire deck like a stage. Luke stood there.
Wind tugged at his clothes, torchlight catching along the dark edge of Backbiter at his side. Mounted along the rail beside him, the Golden Fleece glowed softly, its light rippling like liquid gold against the night.
And beside him was Annabeth.
Her hands were bound in front of her, a guard positioned near enough to grab her if she moved. Her hair whipped in the wind, and though she stood upright Percy could see the tension in her shoulders, the rigid stillness of someone waiting for the wrong move.
Her eyes found his.
For a moment everything else fell away — the monsters, the deck, the ocean — leaving only the distance between them.
Then Percy noticed something else. She wasn’t looking at the monsters. She wasn’t looking at Luke. She was looking at him and Clarisse. And the moment her gaze flicked between them, understanding hit her face, not relief.
Fear.
Because she could see it too. The bruising around Percy’s throat. The distance Clarisse was unconsciously keeping from him.
Whatever Luke and Aiden were planning, Percy and Clarisse were the center of it.
Luke stepped forward to the edge of the stern balcony, one hand resting casually along the rail as if this were a speech and not a sentence. The torchlight behind him burned gold against the night, and the Golden Fleece beside him shimmered faintly, its glow washing the wood beneath it in warm, living light. The ocean moved behind him, black waves lifting and falling, reflecting the torches in broken streaks.
He looked down at Percy. Then at Clarisse.
“Well,” Luke said easily, his voice carrying across the deck without effort, “this is convenient.”
The monsters quieted. Even the hellhounds settled, their chains clinking as they lowered their heads and watched.
Luke gestured lazily toward the cleared circle of deck around them. “You two have already demonstrated impressive… enthusiasm.”
Clarisse flinched.
Not visibly enough for the crowd, but Percy saw it. Her eyes flicked once, involuntarily, to his throat. The bruises were darkening now beneath his skin, fingerprints of steel. He realized she was remembering exactly how his breathing had sounded when it started to stop.
Her jaw tightened.
Luke’s gaze drifted briefly toward Aiden, then back. “I thought it might be more difficult to motivate you.”
Annabeth moved beside him. “Luke, don’t—”
The dracaena beside her tightened its grip on her arm. She stopped, but her eyes locked onto Percy, urgent, warning, terrified for him.
Luke continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’ve decided to make this simple.”
The crowd leaned in.
“A fight,” he said. The wind gusted across the deck, snapping the torches sideways. “To the death.”
The words didn’t echo. They sank.
Clarisse shook her head slowly. “No.”
It came out barely louder than the waves. Luke ignored her.
“The winner,” he said calmly, “walks off this ship alive… and takes Annabeth with them.”
The reaction rippled outward, monsters muttering, weapons shifting, boots scraping wood.
Percy’s pulse hammered. He looked up at Annabeth. She wasn’t looking at Luke. She was looking at him and Clarisse. And she understood. Because she could see the space between them. Because she could see the bruises around his neck. Because she knew what had already almost happened.
“Luke,” Percy rasped, his voice still torn, “you don’t need to do this.”
Luke met his gaze.
“I don’t need to,” he agreed. “I want to.”
Clarisse took a step back before she caught herself. Her hands curled slightly, then stopped, like she was afraid to let them close fully into fists again.
“We’re not doing that,” she said, but there was something fragile beneath the anger now.
Luke leaned lightly on the railing. “You don’t actually have a choice.”
Aiden hadn’t moved from the edge of the circle. He wasn’t even looking tense. Just watching. Percy felt it, not Charmspeak, not yet, but the possibility of it. Like standing under a blade suspended by a thread. At any second, Aiden could speak, and his body might stop belonging to him again.
He glanced at Clarisse. She was staring at the deck, not at him. Not because she didn’t care. Because she did. Her voice was barely audible. “I almost killed you.”
“You didn’t,” Percy said quietly.
“I was seconds away,” she said. “Your hands stopped fighting.”
The promise they’d made in the hold — if I lose control, stop me — now hung between them like a threat.
Annabeth’s voice broke across the deck. “Percy, don’t listen to him! He’s lying!”
Luke smiled faintly. “No, Annabeth. I’m being fair.”
He gestured again to the open space.
“You care about her,” he said to Percy. Then, to Clarisse: “And you care about making your dad proud.”
Clarisse’s breathing grew uneven. Percy felt something twist painfully in his chest.
He remembered a different moment, quieter, far away from this ship, the words he had thrown at Annabeth without thinking, fierce and certain: that he would burn Olympus itself if it meant saving her.
He had meant it.
But standing here now, with the salt wind in his lungs and Clarisse beside him, another question rose up like a weight he couldn’t push away:
Would he kill someone else to prove it?
Would he kill her?
He looked at Clarisse, at the girl who had just been begging not to put his blood on her hands, who had tried to fight her own body to let him breathe. He couldn’t even step closer without wondering if Aiden would make her hands close around his throat again.
“If he makes us…” she whispered.
Percy swallowed, throat aching. “Then we don’t give him what he wants.”
Her eyes flicked to his neck.
“We might not get a choice,” she said.
Because if Aiden spoke, it wouldn’t be Percy deciding. And it wouldn’t be Clarisse deciding.
Luke spread his hands.
“So,” he said calmly, the entire ship silent now around them, “choose.”
And Percy understood the real cruelty of it: Luke wasn’t asking whether they would die. He was asking who would have to live with it.