Chapter Text
Camp Jupiter was built on structure. Raine was not.
The horns blew at sunrise.
Jason Grace was already up, lacing the bracers on his forearms when the first blast echoed off the hills surrounding the valley. The sound cut through the morning air—sharp, urgent. Not the usual “morning drill” call.
He stepped out of the barracks in full armor, hair still damp from his rushed shower, just in time to catch a younger legionnaire sprinting across the field, half-armored and wide-eyed.
“Someone’s coming through the Caldecott Tunnel!” the kid panted. “Octavian says it’s—uh—‘unofficial.’ He’s already down at the gates.”
Jason’s stomach twisted. Unofficial meant unannounced. And unannounced usually meant bad news.
With a sigh, he summoned the winds and lifted himself toward the front gates in a gust of air. He landed with a thud on the gravel, already annoyed.
What he saw made his eyebrows shoot up.
Standing just outside the main archway, flanked by Octavian and two jittery guards, was a girl.
Soaked to the bone. Dripping seawater onto the ground like she’d walked straight out of the Pacific. Her shirt was ripped along one sleeve, and her black cargo pants were crusted with dried salt. A satchel was slung across her chest, battered and water-stained. Her hair, dark and heavy with damp curls, stuck to her face like seaweed.
She didn’t look afraid. She looked... tired. And annoyed.
Definitely not Roman.
“Name?” Octavian snapped, already holding his augury knife like it might divine answers on its own. He was standing too close, eyes narrowed like he could cut her open with a glance.
The girl raised an eyebrow. “Raine.”
Jason frowned. That’s it?
Octavian squinted. “And your last name?”
She scoffed. Actually scoffed. “No.”
“No?” Octavian repeated, incredulous.
“Just Raine,” she said. “Got it, jackass?”
A sharp inhale swept through the gathered legionnaires like a gust of wind. One of the guards audibly choked on his own breath. Jason pressed two fingers to his temple.
It was going to be one of those days.
“I don’t know what backwater Greek slime-pit you crawled out of,” Octavian hissed, stepping forward, “but you’re standing in Camp Jupiter. This is Rome—”
“Is it?” Raine interrupted, looking unimpressed. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks more like a cosplay convention in a wheat field.”
Jason barely bit back a laugh. Okay, that was kind of funny.
Octavian looked like he was about to combust. “You—you insolent—”
Jason stepped in. “That’s enough.”
Both of them turned to him. Raine tilted her head, eyeing him for the first time.
He stood taller under her scrutiny, suddenly aware of how commander-like he must look—armor pristine, gladius at his side, wind tousled hair. He was used to newcomers looking at him with awe or at least a little respect.
Raine looked him up and down and yawned.
“Great,” she muttered. “Another one.”
Jason narrowed his eyes. “This is a Roman camp. We do things a certain way. There are rules.”
“Shocking,” she said flatly. “More rules.”
“You don’t talk to a centurion like that.”
“And yet, here I am.”
He took a step closer. “You here to join the legion, or start a war?”
“Depends,” she replied, squinting at the rising sun. “Which one comes with breakfast?”
Behind him, one of the third cohort legionnaires snorted.
Jason clenched his jaw. The girl—Raine—was obviously a daughter of Neptune. The smell of salt hung heavy around her, and he could practically feel the humidity rising just from standing next to her. Percy had that same aura when he first arrived—ocean-drenched and unpredictable.
But Percy Jackson had never told Octavian to screw off in the first five minutes.
Jason turned back to Octavian. “I’ll take it from here.”
“What?” Octavian hissed. “Absolutely not. She’s—”
“I said I’ll take it from here,” Jason repeated, voice hard.
Octavian looked like he wanted to argue—but one glance at Jason’s face made him think better of it. With a final glare at Raine, he stalked off toward the Temple Hill, muttering something about disrespect and lightning bolts.
Jason turned back to Raine, who was now crouched down, letting one of the unicorns sniff her hand.
“You really shouldn’t do that,” Jason said.
She glanced up. “Why? Afraid I’ll summon a wave of feral magic ponies to overthrow your empire?”
Jason exhaled slowly. “No. Because that one bites.”
The unicorn snorted and licked her wrist. Raine smirked.
“Guess it just likes me better.”
Later That Day
“She’s a daughter of Neptune,” Reyna confirmed, her voice tight with concern. “Percy sent an Iris-message. Says she washed up near Santa Cruz.”
Jason crossed his arms. “You’re kidding.”
“No,” Reyna said. “She walked to Camp Jupiter. Through the hills. Alone.”
Jason blinked. “That’s almost eighty miles.”
“She said something about a nymph guiding her, then a dryad giving her a map drawn on a fish. I stopped asking questions.”
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’m assigning her to Fifth Cohort. And I want you to help her adjust.”
He stared at Reyna. “Why me?”
“Because you’re responsible. And because no one else will last more than ten minutes.”
Jason looked out the window toward the training field. Raine was trying to sword fight with a practice dummy using a broomstick and humming what sounded like a sea shanty.
“I don’t think she wants to adjust.”
“Then make her want to.”
Jason sighed. “Fine. But if she floods the barracks, I’m blaming you.”
Training Field — Later
“I said pivot, not spin in a circle.”
Raine wiped sweat from her brow and shot him a glare. “I was pivoting.”
“You looked like you were trying to seduce the dummy.”
“It was working,” she said, patting the dummy affectionately. “He was blushing.”
Jason stared at her. “It’s made of wood.”
“So is your personality. Doesn’t mean it can’t react.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re uptight.”
“I’m disciplined.”
“You’re constipated.”
He ground his teeth. “You’re reckless.”
She smirked. “You’re boring.”
They squared off, wooden swords raised. Jason lunged. She blocked—sloppily, but with surprising strength.
He swept her legs. She hit the dirt with an oof and a muttered, “Asshole.”
He offered a hand. She ignored it and got up herself.
“Again?” he asked.
She grinned. “You trying to impress me or humiliate me?”
“Neither,” Jason said. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
She blinked, caught off guard for half a second. But then the mask came back on—cocky, sharp, untouchable.
“You care that much, huh?”
Jason looked at her, really looked. She was all rough edges and biting sarcasm, but there was something underneath. A flicker of exhaustion. A crack in the armor.
“I don’t know you,” he said. “But you’re here now. Which means you’re one of us. That matters.”
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then she nodded, once. “Okay.”
It wasn’t much. But it was a start.
That Night
Jason lay in his bunk, staring at the ceiling.
Raine had eaten dinner in record time, insulted Octavian again, then disappeared into her bunk with barely a word.
She was loud, chaotic, and reckless.
And yet… there was something about her. The way she moved like she was always expecting a fight. The way she laughed like it was a weapon. The way she said “just Raine” like she dared the world to ask for more.
He didn’t trust her.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about her either.