The summer heat hangs thick over Camp Half-Blood, heavy with the scent of strawberries and pine. Cicadas drone in the trees that ring the borders, their song a constant, sleepy hum. Y/n's hand rests on the worn wood of the boundary marker near Thalia's tree, the golden fleece glittering in the afternoon sun. It's a peaceful afternoon, which puts Y/n on edge. Clarisse's guard rotations have been doubled since the start of the summer, a quiet but persistent reminder that peace isn't something half-bloods get to keep.