𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙗 | 𝙥. 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙨𝙤𝙣

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Annabeth came up with usually good ideas. This was not one of them.

"I want you to do me a favour," Annabeth said. "The Sirens . . . we'll be in range of their singing soon."

"No problem," Percy assured her. "We can just stop up our ears. There's a big tub of candle wax below deck—"

"I want to hear them."

"Quoi?"

"They say the Sirens sing the truth about what you desire. They tell you things about yourself you didn't even realize. That's what's so enchanting. If you survive . . . you become wiser. I want to hear them. How often will I get that chance?"

Astrid asked, "You trust us enough to catch you like that?"

"No one I'd be safer with." Annabeth set in stone.

They helped her get ready.

As soon as the rocky coastline of the island came into view, Percy ordered one of the ropes to wrap around Annabeth's waist, tying her to the foremast.

"Don't untie me," she said, "no matter what happens or how much I plead. I'll want to go straight over the edge and drown myself."

"Are you trying to tempt me?"

"Ha-ha."

Astrid and Percy shared the tub of wax and plugged their ears, grimacing and shaking their head around the foreign feeling.

At first, Annabeth seemed totally normal. Then she got a puzzled look on her face. Her eyes widened. She strained against the ropes. Her expression was clear: She had to get out. This was life or death.

She seemed so miserable it was hard not to cut her free, Astrid had to look away.

She shouldn't have.

The next time she looked back all she saw was a heap of ropes and Annabeth's bronze knife. The mast was empty. They forgot to disarm her.

The two of them rushed to the side of the boat and saw her paddling away towards the island, straight into jagged rocks.

Percy screamed her name, but even if she heard him it didn't seem to do any good. He looked back at the pilot's wheel and yelled, "Stay!"

Astrid wasn't even thinking when she jumped over the side. She should've done better, be more careful. If only she wasn't such a coward and didn't look away.

Annabeth wasn't that far off yet and she didn't know how she did it but she caught up to her. Nails scratched at her arms as Astrid tried to pull them underwater to dull the singing.

A shock went through Astrid's body the moment she touched her and suddenly she could see what Annabeth must've been seeing.

She could still see it in her mind as she flailed to pull Annabeth down.

Three people sat on a picnic blanket in Central Park. A feast was spread out before them. She recognized Annabeth's dad from photos she'd shown her—an athletic-looking, sandy-haired guy in his forties. He was holding hands with a beautiful woman who looked a lot like Annabeth. She was dressed casually—in blue jeans and a denim shirt and hiking boots—but something about the woman radiated power. I knew that I was looking at the goddess Athena. Next to them sat a young man...Luke.

The whole scene glowed in a warm, buttery light. The three of them were talking and laughing, and when they saw Annabeth, their faces lit up with delight. Annabeth's mom and dad held out their arms invitingly. Luke grinned and gestured for Annabeth to sit next to him—as if he'd never betrayed her, as if he were still her friend.