Loving The Traitor (A Luke Castellan Love Story)[BOOK ONE]

Chapter 16 - We Talk to Chris

We Talk to Chris

The tranquility of the lake enveloped us as Luke and I sat by the water's edge, my head leaning against Luke's shoulder as we watched the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore the only sound breaking the silence. I watched the ripples dance across the surface, my thoughts drifting aimlessly as I waited for Luke to speak.

"By the way," He finally began, his voice breaking through the stillness, "someone else is coming."

I turned to him, my brow furrowing in confusion. "Someone else?" I echoed; my curiosity piqued. But before I could utter another word, another figure emerged from the shadows, a Hermes boy whom I recognized as Chris Rodrigez. He flashed me a knowing smile, his eyes trailing over me in a way that made me feel distinctly uncomfortable.

Luke glared at him, "Watch it, Chris." Chris, undeterred by Luke's silent admonition, approached us with an air of casual confidence. "Hey there," he greeted me, his voice smooth and suave.

Luke's response was terse, a subtle indication of his disapproval. "So, does that mean your in with us Chris?" he asked, his tone bordering on hostility.

Chris's smile never wavered, his gaze flickering between Luke and me. "Well, you said you guys were putting together a little group," he replied nonchalantly. "Thought I'd see what this really is by joining."

I felt a surge of uncertainty wash over me, unsure of what to make of Chris's sudden appearance. The prospect of someone else joining our cause was both thrilling and unnerving, a sign that things were escalating beyond anything I had anticipated.

"Uh... cool," I murmured, my response tinged with ambivalence. Chris's presence added an unexpected layer of complexity to our already precarious situation. It was clear that whatever Luke had planned was beginning to take on a life of its own, drawing others into its orbit with each passing moment.

As we spoke with Chris, his words became a torrent of frustration and disillusionment, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. His anger towards the gods mirrored my own, a reflection of the deep-seated resentment that simmered just beneath the surface.

He ranted about the injustices inflicted upon demigods, his voice rising in indignation with each passing moment. He spoke of unclaimed children, of gods who turned a blind eye to their offspring, leaving them to fend for themselves in a world that was as unforgiving as it was cruel.

His words struck a chord within me, resonating with the doubts and fears that had plagued me since the day I first set foot in Camp Half-Blood. It was a sentiment shared by many, a collective longing for recognition and acceptance in a world that seemed determined to cast us aside.

As the night wore on, our conversation stretched into the early hours of the morning, the weight of our shared grievances hanging heavy in the air. And as we finally parted ways, the first light of dawn painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, I couldn't help but wonder what the future held for us all.