Where You Go ― Jason Grace

xxviii. not her first battle scar

OPHELIA WOKE UP in a cot, her side pain-free and feeling surprisingly refreshed. She frowned as she took in her surroundings, not quite sure where she was, but judging from the multiple identical cots around the large space and the shelves full of medical supplies, she guessed she was in an infirmary.

Which meant they'd made it back to Camp Half-Blood.

Jason had his head on the side of her cot, his arm curled underneath his cheek like a pillow, but he wasn't asleep—he was watching her with those soft, pretty blue eyes that never failed to give him an infuriating advantage in any petty argument. 

For the first time since waking up on the Wilderness School bus with only two names and a gaping abyss where her past should have been, she felt the world tilt back into place. It wasn't stable, and there were still pieces missing, but the puzzle was starting to resemble an actual image rather than a random assortment of snippets from a forgotten past. 

"Hey," she whispered. He looked better than he had before Ophelia passed out—like he'd finally gotten a chance to shower and change. He was in a clean orange Camp Half-Blood shirt and a pair of jeans that weren't covered in dirt and holes. He still looked tired, but significantly better than before.

"Hey," he whispered back. With the arm that wasn't under his head, he reached for her hand, fidgeting absently with her fingers. It was a habit, and finally Ophelia had enough memory to justify that thought. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I never got stabbed," she answered truthfully. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Apollo and whichever of his descendants had fixed her up. "What about you? You're the one who saw Hera in all her godly terror."

"I'm fine," he said softly. There was a crease between his eyebrows, and Ophelia reached out to smooth it with her thumb. He closed his eyes for three heartbeats, and when he opened them, the worry in them had softened into something closer to simple relief. 

"How long was I out?" she asked. 

"We popped back into camp during dinner last night," Jason answered. "It's almost lunch now." 

Ophelia nodded. She was a little surprised—she felt like she'd slept longer. "Did we at least make an entrance?" 

Jason cracked enough of a smile to tell Ophelia he was okay—or he would be. "We landed right on the Aphrodite cabin's table," he informed her. "You almost fell on top of Drew before Piper and I caught you. Leo was busy throwing up into the hearth."

Ophelia laughed, relieved when it didn't make her side hurt. 

"Will said if you feel okay, you should be good to leave," Jason told her. "He stitched up your side, said it should be completely healed in a few days. It'll scar, but..."

"Won't be my first," Ophelia said. "Doubt it'll be my last." 

Jason gave her a withering look like a disappointed but unsurprised teacher. "They aren't trophies." 

"They're kind of like trophies," Ophelia protested. She poked at the tiny scar on his upper lip. She vaguely remembered wondering what stupid thing he'd done to get it—maybe he had a hard time learning how to eat with a fork, she was pretty sure she'd told someone once. She was amused to learn it was something even sillier than that. "At least I didn't get any from trying to eat an office supply." 

Jason rolled his eyes, but there was a clear fondness in his eyes that always made Ophelia feel like she's the only person in the world. "I was two."

"And your judgment's only slightly improved since then," Ophelia teased. 

She sat up slowly, testing the waters. There was the faintest burn in her side as her skin stretched, but it was easy to endure. "I need a shower—and food."