✓ | 𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ᴇɪɢʜᴛʏ-ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

I'm Not That Girl.

🌃

When Valentine and Clarisse returned to check on Rory, having refused Silena’s plea to join the fight, they expected to find her exactly where they had left her—trapped, listless, defeated.

Instead, they found the basement door closed but unlatched.

Clarisse frowned, exchanging a wary glance with Valentine before reaching out. A simple push was all it took for the door to swing open with an eerie creak, revealing the dim, empty basement beyond.

Their prisoner was nowhere to be found.

A cold realization settled over them like a storm rolling in from the sea. Clarisse's face paled, her fingers clenching into fists as she spun on her heel. Impossible. Rory had been weakened, barely strong enough to stand, let alone escape. She had no weapons, no allies, nothing but the weight of Luke's final words and whatever strength still lingered in her battered frame which was close to none.

"She couldn’t have gotten far," Valentine murmured, but there was an undercurrent of doubt in her voice.

Clarisse wasted no time. She barked out orders, her voice sharp and commanding as she rallied the Ares cabin. Within moments, warriors scattered in every direction, combing the camp with ruthless efficiency. They swept through the cabins, the armory, the stables—anywhere she might have gone.

Yet, as the minutes stretched into an hour with no sign of her, an unease settled in Valentine’s chest.

Rory was not the type to run blindly, even when she had no strength left to fight. She had purpose, even in her weakest moments. And that meant she had somewhere to go.

Valentine found herself drifting toward the forest. Not searching so much as following an instinct, an old memory tugging at the edges of her mind.

And then she saw her.

There, in their usual spot.

The place where sunlight filtered through the canopy, dappling the earth in shifting patches of gold. Where the wind carried the scent of pine and earth, and the world felt just a little softer, a little quieter.

It was here that they had spent summers past, sneaking away from their respective cabins, their responsibilities forgotten as they lay side by side, trading secrets, laughter, and whispered dreams of a future neither of them had ever truly believed they would see.

But that had been before.

Before the war. Before Kronos. Before Rory had betrayed her.

The girl sitting there now was not the Rory Valentine had once known.

She sat curled in on herself, shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world pressed down upon them. Her hands rested limply in her lap, still holding something small—something gold. Her face, once so full of fire, was pale in the shifting light, her cheekbones sharp, her eyes dark hollows beneath the weight of exhaustion.

Valentine approached cautiously.

Even from a distance, she could see the remnants of tears staining Rory’s cheeks, the evidence of sleepless nights etched into the fragile skin beneath her eyes.

She looked—

Not just tired.

Not just broken.

Hollow.

"You didn’t leave," Valentine remarked gently, her voice a soft murmur amidst the stillness of the forest. She half-expected Rory to flinch at the intrusion, to bristle at the presence of someone who still dared to speak to her without caution laced in their tone.