Remembering is Dangerous

I don't glow with lightning or sing with sunshine. I'm the kind of kid who remembers everything-every face, every secret, every nightmare. My mother isn't one of the gods you hear about in campfire stories; she's older, colder, and a thousand times more dangerous. That means monsters never really stop hunting me. They don't just want to kill me-they want to erase me.

For years, I learned to disappear-not just in crowds, but in memories, in dreams. I slip into the minds of others like a ghost, a whisper they don't remember. I listen. I learn. It's the only way to survive when your past is a battlefield.

Camp Half-Blood is supposed to be safe. But I'm still careful. Still watching shadows. Still wondering when the next nightmare will find me. Maybe I'm a little broken. Maybe I'm exactly who I'm meant to be.