Chapter 50 50
Annabeth's POV:
Two weeks of training with Marcus and I could hold my fire steady for five minutes without breaking a sweat, could expand it to exactly fifty feet and pull it back in under thirty seconds, could summon and extinguish flames fast enough that it looked almost instantaneous.
I was getting stronger, faster, more controlled. My body had adapted to the brutal early morning and late afternoon sessions, my muscles less sore and my endurance better. The exhaustion still hit hard at the end of each session but I recovered quicker now, could function normally the rest of the day instead of collapsing into bed.
Today had been particularly intense. Marcus had me practicing combat scenarios, simulating Order attacks where I had to defend and counterattack simultaneously. My fire, my movement, my awareness of surroundings, all happening at once while he threw everything he could at me. Not actual attacks, obviously, but enough pressure that my dragon instincts kicked in and I stopped thinking and just reacted.
I'd burned a circle forty feet wide without losing control, had maintained defensive flames around my body while launching projectile fire at targets, had done everything he asked and then some. And I was absolutely destroyed from it.
We were sitting on the ground at the edge of the clearing now, both of us catching our breath. I was covered in sweat and ash, my hair escaping its ponytail in messy strands around my face. Marcus looked barely winded, which was annoying, but I guess centuries of practice meant you didn't get tired as easily.
"You're getting better," he said after a minute. Not praise, exactly, just observation. "Another few weeks and you'll be able to hold your own against a small team."
"Just a small team?"
"A full Order squad would kill either of us. But you'll at least have a fighting chance to escape."
Great. Something to look forward to.
We sat in silence for a while, the only sound our breathing and the occasional bird call from the trees around us. This was when I usually left, gathered my stuff and drove home to shower and sleep, but something kept me sitting there.
"Can I ask you something?" I said finally.
He looked at me. "Yeah."
"How did you meet my mom? Like, really meet her. Not just the basic version."
Marcus went quiet and I thought maybe he wouldn't answer, would shut down the way he did when conversations got too personal. But then he leaned back on his hands and looked up at the trees.
"A café," he said. "Just some random place downtown, nothing special. I was sitting there reading the paper and she walked by my table carrying this ridiculous iced coffee, like three shots of espresso and caramel or something, and she tripped. Didn't fall, just stumbled, and the coffee went everywhere. All over my shirt, my newspaper, the table."
I could picture it, could almost see my mother's face going red with embarrassment.
"She was mortified," Marcus continued. "Started apologizing like she'd just murdered someone, trying to wipe off my shirt with napkins and making it worse. And I just... I looked at her and that was it. Done. She had these eyes that were sharp and alive, and when she finally stopped apologizing long enough to actually look at me, she had this expression like she was trying to figure out if I was gonna yell at her or not."
"Did you?"
"No. I told her it was fine and offered to buy her another coffee." He smiled slightly, the first real smile I'd seen from him. "She said only if I let her buy me a new shirt because she felt terrible. We ended up talking for three hours, just sitting in that café talking about everything and nothing."
"What was she like?" The question came out quieter than I meant it to. "I mean, I know what Aunt Sarah told me, but... what was she like to you?"
Marcus was quiet for a long moment, choosing his words carefully.
"She was stubborn as hell. Once she decided something, good luck changing her mind. She was brilliant, like actually brilliant, could speak four languages and was learning ancient Greek just for fun. She read constantly, had books everywhere, would fall asleep reading and I'd find her with her face in whatever novel she'd been obsessed with that week."
I smiled despite myself. Aunt Sarah had told me that part, how Sammy would rather read than sleep.
"She wasn't afraid of anything," Marcus said, his voice getting softer. "I told her what I was about two months after we met. Took her to the woods, showed her my dragon form, the whole thing. I thought she'd run, thought she'd be terrified or think I was crazy. You know what she did?"
"What?"
"She walked up to me, to this giant fucking dragon that could've killed her without trying, and she touched my scales. Then she looked at me and said 'you're gonna have to try harder if you want to scare me off.' " He laughed, this quiet sound that was half amusement and half grief. "That was Sammy. Fearless. Curious. Determined to understand everything about the world even when the world got weird."
I felt tears burning in my eyes and blinked them back. This was my mother, the person I'd never gotten to meet, seen through the eyes of someone who'd loved her.
"We were together for almost two years before she got pregnant," Marcus continued. "She knew the risks, knew human bodies weren't meant to carry red dragon hybrids. But she wanted you anyway, wanted to give me a family even though it scared the shit out of both of us."
"Did she... was she happy? Before she died?"
"Yeah. She was happy. Terrified, but happy." He looked at me directly. "She would've loved you, Annabeth. Would've been so proud of the person you've become. Smart and strong and stubborn just like her."
The tears fell then and I didn't try to stop them. Just sat there crying while Marcus stayed quiet beside me, giving me space to grieve the mother I never knew but could feel in my bones.
After a minute I wiped my face with the sleeve of my shirt and took a shaky breath.
"Thank you," I said. "For telling me that. For letting me know her."
"You deserved to know." He stood up and offered me his hand. "Come on. You need rest and I need to scout the perimeter. The Order's been quiet lately and that makes me nervous."
I took his hand and let him pull me up, something in my chest loosening slightly. Not forgiveness, not yet, maybe not ever. But understanding, maybe. The beginning of seeing him as a person who'd loved my mother and lost her, who'd made impossible choices that I couldn't fully judge because I'd never been in his position.
We walked out of the clearing together and for the first time since meeting him, I didn't feel the constant anger. Just tired and sad and a little bit grateful.