Chapter 47 47
Annabeth's POV:
A week after everything went to shit and I still wasn't better, just emptier. Like someone had scooped out everything that used to be inside me and left this hollow space that echoed when I moved. I'd skipped four days of classes, texted Mara some bullshit about having the flu, and spent most of my time in my room doing absolutely nothing.
Not crying, not really. I'd cried myself out in the first two days. Now I just lay in bed staring at my ceiling or sat at my desk pretending to study while the words on the page blurred together into meaningless shapes.
Aunt Sarah kept bringing me food I barely touched. Soup, sandwiches, her famous lasagna that usually I'd eat three servings of. It all tasted like nothing, cardboard and disappointment, and I'd force down a few bites just so she'd stop looking at me with those worried eyes.
"You should talk to him," she'd said yesterday, sitting on the edge of my bed. "At least hear his side."
"There is no side. He lied. That's it."
"I already told you, people make mistakes when they're trying to protect someone they love. Don’t be so tough with him."
"That's a shit excuse and you know it."
She'd left after that, and I felt bad for snapping at her but not bad enough to apologize. Everything felt distant, muffled, like I was watching my life happen from underwater.
I looked like hell too. Hadn't bothered with makeup or doing my hair, just threw it in a messy bun and called it good enough. My clothes were the same sweatpants and hoodie I'd been wearing for two days, maybe three. Who was counting, right?
The worst part, the thing that made me want to scream, was the bond. That incomplete connection that let me feel him even though I didn't want to, that forced me to experience his grief mixing with mine until I couldn't breathe from the weight of it.
He was in so much pain. I could feel it constantly, this ache that sat in my chest and stomach, making everything hurt worse. He wasn't sleeping, wasn't eating properly, was falling apart the same way I was. And I hated that I knew that, hated that some part of me wanted to comfort him even though he was the reason everything hurt.
I'd tried to block it, tried those meditation techniques I'd learned for controlling my fire, but it didn't work. The bond didn't care if I wanted to feel him or not, just kept bleeding his emotions into mine until I couldn't tell which pain was his and which was mine.
"Stop," I'd whispered to the empty room more than once. "Just stop feeling things, please."
But he didn't stop and neither did I, and we were trapped in this terrible cycle of hurting each other through a connection neither of us could break.
Someone knocked on the front door around two in the afternoon. I was in my room and ignored it, figuring it was a delivery or a neighbor or someone Aunt Sarah could deal with. But then I heard voices, hers and someone else's, a man's voice that made every muscle in my body go tense.
I knew who it was before I opened my bedroom door and looked down the hallway. Aunt Sarah was standing in the entryway talking to Marcus, who looked exactly the same as he had a week ago: dark clothes, intense presence, and those red eyes that matched mine.
"I need to talk to Annabeth," he was saying.
"I don't think that's a good idea right now. She's not—"
"I don't care if it's a good idea. It's necessary."
I walked down the hallway and Aunt Sarah saw me first, relief and worry crossing her face. Marcus turned and looked at me, and I wanted to slam the door in his face, wanted to scream at him to get out of my house, wanted to do anything except stand there feeling hollow.
"What do you want?" My voice came out flat, dead.
"To talk. Can we do that inside or do you want to have this conversation on your front porch where your neighbors can hear?"
"I don't want to have this conversation at all."
"Too bad. You're having it anyway." He looked at my aunt. "Give us ten minutes."
Aunt Sarah looked at me and I nodded slightly. She went to the kitchen, probably to lurk close enough to hear everything, and I led Marcus to the living room without inviting him to sit.
"Say what you came to say and then leave," I told him.
"The Order is still here. The man from the hotel hasn't left town, and I've killed two more operatives in the past week who were watching your house." He said it matter-of-factly, like he was talking about the weather. "They know you exist, they know where you live, and they're waiting for the right moment to grab you."
"So what? You want me to run? Hide somewhere?"
"No. I want you to learn how to defend yourself so when they come for you, you don't die." He took a step closer. "You're a red dragon, Annabeth. The rarest, most powerful lineage that exists. And right now you're wasting that power sulking in your bedroom because your boyfriend lied to you."
"Fuck you," I said, anger finally breaking through the numbness. "You don't get to judge me for being upset about this. You abandoned me, you've been alive for eighteen years without telling me, and now you show up acting like you have any right to tell me what to do."
"I don't have a right. I know that. But I'm telling you anyway because someone needs to." His voice got harder. "The Order doesn't care that you're sad. They don't care that you feel betrayed. They're going to come for you and if you can't fight back, they'll put you in a cell and drain your blood until there's nothing left. Is that what you want?"
"No."
"Then train with me. Learn how to use your fire properly, learn how to defend yourself, learn how to survive." He paused. "You can hate me the whole time if you want. You can hate me while you train, you can hate me while you learn, but I'm not going to let you die just because you're too proud to accept help from someone who hurt you."
The words hit harder than they should have. Because he was right, as much as I didn't want him to be, he was right. The Order was real and dangerous and they weren't going to wait for me to finish grieving before they made their move.
"I don't want to forgive you," I said quietly. "I don't want to have a relationship with you or hear stories about my mom or pretend we're family."
"I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to let me teach you so you don't end up in a cage or dead." He met my eyes. "That's it. Just training. You can keep hating me after you're strong enough to protect yourself."
I should've said no. Should've told him to get out and never come back. But the practical part of my brain, the part that had kept me alive through spontaneous fire manifestations and almost burning down my house, knew he was right.
"Fine," I said. "When do we start?"
"Tomorrow morning. Six AM. I'll text you the location." He turned to leave, then stopped. "And Annabeth? Don't tell anyone where you're going. Not your aunt, not your friends, and especially not Kaelen. The fewer people who know, the safer you are."
"I'm not talking to Kaelen anyway."
Something flickered in his expression, might've been sympathy but it was gone too fast to tell. "Tomorrow. Don't be late."
He left and I stood in the living room feeling like I'd just agreed to something that was going to change everything. My aunt came out of the kitchen where she'd definitely been listening.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked.
"No. But he's right about the Order. I need to be able to defend myself." I looked at her. "And I need something to do that isn't lying in bed feeling sorry for myself."
She hugged me and I let her, wrapping my arms around her and holding on for a minute. When she pulled back her eyes were wet but she was smiling slightly.
"Your mother would be proud of you. Making the hard choice even when you're hurt."
I didn't feel proud. I felt empty and scared and angry at everyone, Marcus and Kaelen and the Order and the universe for making my life so fucking complicated.
But at least tomorrow I'd be doing something instead of nothing, and that had to count for something.