𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄, PJ2

𝟎𝟎𝟓.4

The door to Percy's cabin swung open with a force that made the hinges groan in protest. Augustus stepped inside, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. Percy sat on the edge of his bed, his face buried in Juliet's pillow, the fabric clutched tightly in his chained hands. His wrists were bound to the bedpost with celestial bronze manacles—Jason's idea—meant to keep him from wreaking havoc after the chaos he'd caused in his grief.

The cabin felt suffocating, the air heavy with the faint tang of saltwater and something rawer—rage, sorrow, desperation. The walls bore the scars of Percy's earlier outbursts, gouges and scorch marks from when he'd lost control. The ocean outside seemed to echo his mood, the faint sound of waves crashing against the hull like an unspoken warning.

"You've got to stop this," Augustus said, his voice low but firm. He didn't step further into the room, not yet. He'd seen what Percy was capable of when pushed, and while he wasn't scared of the son of Poseidon, he respected the power that churned just beneath his surface.

Percy didn't respond, his breathing shallow and uneven. His knuckles were white as he gripped Juliet's pillow tighter, as though it could anchor him.

"I didn't want to do this, Percy," Augustus continued, stepping further into the room. "But you left us no choice. You nearly drowned the lower deck yesterday. Hazel barely made it out before the water hit the engine room."

Percy's grip on the pillow tightened, and for a moment, the cabin seemed to vibrate faintly, as if the ship itself was reacting to his emotions. The tang of salt in the air grew stronger, almost suffocating.

Augustus stopped a few feet away from the bed, his jaw tight as he studied Percy. "You think this is what Juliet would want? You tearing the ship apart every time you lose control?"

Percy's head shot up, his eyes blazing with fury and pain. "Don't talk about what Juliet would want!" he snarled. The water in the cabin rippled—small beads of moisture condensing on the walls and ceiling, trembling like they were waiting for a command. "You think I forgot all about Olympus!"

Augustus's throat clogged, his breath a tight, almost imperceptible hitch. The words were a punch to the gut, a reminder of the darkness that had been festering in the cracks of their fragile alliance ever since Juliet had died—and then come back to life, only to be ripped away again.

"You hid from me what the medic said! Hid from me that she was near death, let me watch her die! Then came to play friend!"

The accusation hung in the air like a thunderclap, the weight of Percy's words pressing down on the room. Augustus's breath caught, his expression hardening, but not before a flicker of guilt flashed across his face. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white, but he didn't look away from Percy's searing gaze. He knew with Juliet coming back to life Percy hadn't talked about the brief period after her death when they had stopped talking, Percy didn't want to open those wounds, but now with her gone, he was just as feral as always.

"You hid from me what the medic said!" Percy's voice cracked, his eyes flashing with a hatred that felt like it could tear the room apart. "You hid from me that she was near death—let me watch her die in front of me! Then you had the nerve to come play friend?"

The accusation lingered in the air, oppressive, like a thunderclap that shook the walls. It hung there between them, a moment of pure, raw emotion that neither could escape. The tension coiled like a noose around Augustus's chest, suffocating him. He felt every ounce of Percy's betrayal like a blade digging into his side, but he wasn't sure if the wound was made from guilt or anger, or both.

His hands balled into fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white, but Augustus didn't look away from Percy's burning gaze. He could see the storm swirling behind those eyes—grief, fury, and something darker, something that made him realize just how much damage had been done, not just to Percy, but to their entire fragile world. The chains of resentment that tied them all together were snapping, one by one.