Chapter Text
The beat-up pickup truck rattled along the cracked roads of Long Island, every bump and jolt a reminder of its age. The radio sputtered static and faint fragments of old rock songs as Vi turned the dial back and forth, trying to land on something listenable. Her fingers drummed a restless rhythm on the cracked leather dashboard, the movements sharp and uneven like the thoughts ricocheting through her mind.
Out the window, the familiar landscape blurred by: dense woods, the occasional stretch of sun-dappled grass, and the glint of the ocean far off in the distance. She’d seen it all a million times before, but her eyes darted across it anyway, searching for something new to focus on—anything to quiet the buzzing energy thrumming under her skin.
She shifted in the passenger seat, tugging at the frayed strap of her tank top, then flicked at the radio again. It hissed and crackled, and she sighed, leaning back with a huff.
Vander didn’t pipe a word. He didn’t need to. His grip on the wheel was steady, but the crease in his forehead said enough. Truthfully, the small nod he’d given Vi when she’d climbed in outside Erie County Detention Center had conveyed everything he needed her to know. He was happy she was out. He didn’t need to say it.
They rode in silence, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable. They’d had years to perfect it, and after the past few months, Vi didn’t mind. She glanced sideways at him briefly—his profile was stoic, lined with the wear of a man who’d seen too much but kept going anyway.
Her fingers picked up a rhythm again, tapping out the beat to a song that didn’t exist. The truck hit a pothole, jolting her slightly in her seat, but she barely noticed. The landscape had shifted, the trees thicker now, the sky brighter as the morning sun approached its zenith. Her heart picked up speed, a tightness forming in her chest as the truck began to slow at the end of a dirt road.
“This is it,” Vander grunted as he killed the engine.
No sign marked the turnoff, but Vi didn’t need one. She knew the path by heart, knew every bump, every twist, every patch of weeds along the edges.
Vi climbed out of the truck and stretched, her boots kicking up little clouds of dust. The air smelled like pine and salt, and the faintest hint of campfire smoke lingered somewhere far away. It was home.
She circled around to the back of the vehicle, pulling her battered pack out of the bed, the canvas worn and faded from years of wear. Slinging it over her shoulder, she turned back to Vander. He was already climbing out of the driver’s seat, leaning his weight against the doorframe as she approached.
Vi wrapped her arms around him in a hug that smelled like leather, cigarettes, and something else she could only describe as safety .
“Thanks for the ride,” she muttered into his large chest before stepping back.
He nodded, his eyes softening just slightly. “Not gonna drink yourself to death before I drop by in the fall, are you?” she teased, shouldering her bag.
A low chuckle rumbled in his throat. “No promises,” he said.
She turned toward the path, her chest squeezing with anticipation and nerves as she took her first step.
“Vi.”
She stopped and glanced back. Vander stood by the truck, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets—a habit she’d weirdly picked up on after him. His eyes held hers for a moment, his usual bluntness giving way to something softer.
“I’m proud of you, kid.”
Her throat tightened, but she managed a smirk. “Don’t get all mushy on me now, old man.”
Without waiting for a reply, Vi turned back to the path up the hill, her pack jolting against her back.
The camp gates loomed ahead, hidden by the dense tree line, but Vi’s legs moved on instinct, carrying her forward. Her heart pounded as she stepped past the invisible threshold, a subtle shimmer in the air brushing against her skin like a whisper of magic. She glanced up to see Thalia’s pine standing tall in the distance, its needles glinting in the sun like it was welcoming her back.
The familiar sounds of camp hit her in waves—laughter, the clash of swords from the training arena, the distant hum of conversation. Her silver gaze caught a group of satyrs lounging around the volleyball court, one spiking the ball while the others cheered in chaotic delight. She smirked. Some things never changed.
Her boots kicked up dust as she made her way toward the Big House, its blue-painted porch and weathered shutters coming into view. Standing on the steps, Chiron was already waiting for her, his equine half perfectly still, as though he’d known the exact moment she’d arrive. His warm smile softened the sharp edges of her nerves.
“Vi,” he said, his voice as steady and calm as she remembered. “Welcome home.”
She climbed the porch steps, her bag slung over her shoulder, and leaned against the railing. “You’ve been spying on me with those creepy oracle powers again, haven’t you?”
Chiron chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “No need. I could hear the racket from Vander’s truck all the way here.” He tilted his head slightly, giving her a look that was both fond and appraising. “You’ve grown up quite a bit in three years.”
Vi raised an eyebrow, smirking. “What, did you think I was gonna stay twelve forever? That’s not how time works, Big Guy.”
Before Chiron could reply, a familiar exasperated voice cut through the air from behind him. “Not you again,” Mr. D. groaned, stepping into view from the Big House doorway.
Vi’s lips turned into something smug. “Missed me, Mr. D?”
The camp director, wearing his usual Hawaiian shirt and clutching a can of Diet Coke, pinched the bridge of his nose like her very presence gave him a headache. “Oh, yes. Because Camp Half-Blood hasn’t been chaotic enough without you here.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Just don’t blow anything up, and maybe I’ll tolerate your existence.”
“Love you too,” Vi quipped, throwing a mock salute as she pushed off the railing.
Behind her, she caught the low, exasperated muttering of Mr. D. “Just when I finally rid myself of that La Rue menace, another Ares spawn shows up to ruin my life. Can’t I get a break around here?”
Vi snorted to herself, biting back a grin. Chiron gave her a knowing look but said nothing, his eyes twinkling as she walked away.
The Ares cabin stood just as Vi remembered it—intimidating, unapologetic, and a little rough around the edges. Crimson paint peeled slightly in the summer sun, the barbed wire decorations around the roof looking as though someone had freshly tightened them.
Vi shoved the heavy wooden door open with her shoulder, her pack slung over one arm. The familiar scent hit her immediately—sweat, leather, and the faint tang of old weapon oil. She hesitated for half a second, her eyes adjusting to the dim interior, before stepping inside. The cabin looked the same—cluttered bunks, weapons piled against the walls like forgotten laundry, and that unshakable aura of barely restrained chaos. It was home, in all its gritty, dysfunctional glory.
The few campers inside turned at the sound of the door creaking open. For a moment, there was silence, just the sound of the panel swinging shut behind her. Then a burly boy near the center of the room let out a loud bark of laughter.
“No way,” he said, staring at her like she’d just crawled out of Tartarus. His grin split his face as he jogged over, giving her a solid clap on the shoulder that almost knocked her off balance. “Vi? You’re back? I thought—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Vi interrupted, smirking. “Thought you’d seen the last of me, huh?”
The boy blinked, clearly still processing, and then a wide grin broke across his face. “Damn right, I did! You’ve been gone, what, three years? We figured—” He cut himself off, but she could hear the unspoken thought. We figured you weren’t coming back.
Vi didn’t miss a beat. “What can I say? I like to keep you on your toes.”
“Vi?” Sophie’s voice was incredulous as she stepped closer, her short hair now chopped into a jagged bob that made her look even tougher than before. Her eyes scanned Vi like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “Holy crap, it is you. I—honestly thought we’d never see you again.”
“Guess I’m full of surprises,” Vi said, shrugging. She glanced around, taking in the faces, most of them vaguely familiar but sharper, older. Puberty had hit them all like a freight train.
Emilio leaned against one of the bunks, his lanky frame now filled out with muscle and a few scars decorating his forearms. He grinned at her, shaking his head. “Man, I don’t even know what to say. Last we heard, you got four years. You weren’t supposed to get out ‘til—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Vi cut him off again, smirking. “Good behavior. Turns out I’m not as much of a menace as people think.”
Sophie snorted. “Right. Sure—Wait, for real?”
“Yep,” Vi shrugged dismissively. “Anyway, you’ll have to give me the rundown. What’s been going on?”
“Same old, same old,” Emilio said, leaning against a bunk. “Capture the Flag last week got real ugly—Hermes cabin stole our flag, so we ambushed them in the woods. Chiron wasn’t thrilled about the ‘collateral damage,’ but hey, a win’s a win.”
Vi laughed, shaking her head. “Sounds about right.”
The longer she talked, the more at ease she felt. It was strange, seeing them all older, tougher, but still unmistakably them . Even the cabin itself seemed to hum with familiarity, like it hadn’t skipped a beat in her absence.
After a few minutes, the door creaked open again, and a lanky boy with a helmet tucked under one arm stepped in. He froze when he saw Vi, then grinned ear to ear. “Holy crap, Lanes! Didn’t think we’d ever see you again.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Vi quipped, giving him a quick fist bump. “What, you thought I’d let you guys win the arena matches forever?”
That earned a chorus of groans and laughter, someone in the back muttering, “Here we go again.”
As the chatter died down, Vi finally dropped her pack onto one of the empty bunks near the door. She sat down for a moment, glancing around the cabin. The chaos, the noise, the energy—it all felt right. But there was someone she hadn’t seen yet, someone she’d been waiting for.
She pushed herself to her feet, dusting her hands off. “Alright, I’ll catch up with you knuckleheads later. I’ve gotta go find Powder.”
“Tell her we said hi,” Sophie answered, giving her a small wave as Vi headed toward the door.
“Will do.” Vi shot them a grin over her shoulder, then stepped back out into the bright sunlight.
She made her way toward the Dining Pavilion, the familiar scent of freshly served lunch wrapping around her like a warm hug. Her pace quickened as the familiar stone columns and rows of tables came into view. The sound of clinking plates and laughter filled the air, voices rising and falling in a chaotic symphony that was uniquely Camp Half-Blood.
Her eyes scanned the crowd instinctively, skimming over faces she half-recognized and others she didn’t at all. Most of the tables were packed, campers chatting animatedly, gesturing with their hands as they shoveled food into their mouths. She was halfway down the Pavilion when she spotted them—the people she’d been looking for.
Powder sat at one of the tables near the middle, her wild blue hair an unmistakable beacon in the sea of campers. She was talking animatedly, her hands moving in exaggerated gestures as she leaned toward Ekko, who was smirking like he was only half-listening. Mylo and Claggor were on either side of them, laughing at something she’d said, their familiar banter filling the space between bites of food.
Vi froze for a moment, her feet rooted to the ground as her chest tightened. Powder looked… older. Taller. Her cheeks had lost a bit of their roundness, and her movements were sharper, more confident. But the way she threw her head back in laughter, her wild, unrestrained joy—it was still so unmistakably Powder . For a moment, Vi’s throat tightened, and her vision blurred at the edges.
She swallowed hard and pushed forward, her boots crunching on the stone floor as she closed the distance. Powder hadn’t noticed her yet, too wrapped up in whatever she was saying to Ekko. Vi’s heart pounded harder with every step until she was close enough to see the faint smudge of dirt on Powder’s cheek and the grease stains on her camp shirt.
Then, without a second thought, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Powder in a tight back hug and lifting her clean off the bench.
“What the—?” she started, twisting in Vi’s embrace until she managed to catch sight of her sister’s face. Her wide, startled blue eyes filled with recognition, and then, suddenly, tears.
“Vi?” she croaked, her voice high and trembling. Her hands shot up, clutching at Vi’s shoulders like she was afraid she might disappear if she let go.
“Hey, Pow Pow,” Vi said softly, her throat tight as she pulled Powder close again.
The dam broke. Powder buried her face against Vi’s chest, her sobs muffled but still loud enough to turn a few heads from nearby tables. Her skinny arms wrapped around Vi’s neck with a grip so tight it was almost suffocating, but Vi didn’t care. Powder was shaking, her tears soaking into her sister’s shirt, and it was the best thing Vi had felt in years.
“You’re back,” Powder choked out between gasping sobs. “You’re really back.”
“Yeah,” Vi murmured, her own voice cracking as she squeezed her sister tighter. “I’m home, Pow. I’m home.”
The table had gone quiet, Ekko, Mylo, and Claggor all staring at the scene with varying degrees of surprise and amusement. Claggor was the first to break the silence, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Damn, Vi. You really do know how to make an entrance.”
Ekko leaned back, shaking his head with a bemused expression. “I don’t think anyone’s ever seen her cry before. I’m not sure if we should be impressed or terrified.”
Mylo, true to form, leaned forward with a smirk. “What’s next, you gonna start hugging us too? Or do you just have favorites?”
Vi shot him a glare over Powder’s shoulder. “Don’t push your luck, Mylo.”
The exchange made Powder laugh through her tears, a wet, hiccupping sound that tugged at Vi’s chest. She pulled back just enough to see Powder’s face, cupping her cheek with one hand. “Damn, kid,” she said softly. “You grew up on me.”
Powder sniffled, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “You’re one to talk,” she shot back, her voice still shaky but laced with affection. “You’re huge now. Did they have you, like, bench-press minotaurs in there or something?”
Vi laughed, her hand dropping to ruffle Powder’s hair. “Something like that.”
“Alright, alright,” Mylo said, leaning forward with a smirk. “Can we eat now, or are you two gonna keep sobbing all over the table?”
Powder huffed, swiping at her eyes again before nudging Vi toward the bench. “Sit down, you big idiot. You’re making this weird.”
Vi snorted but slid onto the bench beside her sister, ignoring the stares from the nearby tables as she grabbed a plate. Her sister immediately latched onto her arm again, and Vi let her, the small gesture grounding her in a way nothing else could.
*****
Vi stretched her arms overhead as she walked away from the Dining Pavilion, Powder chattering at her side while Ekko ambled along, jamming his hands into his hoodie pockets. Lunch had gone surprisingly well—no one’d tried to stab her, and no one had offered her pitying looks about her time in juvie. She’d call that a win.
Her boots scuffed against the stones as they neared the large corkboard posted at the Pavilion’s entrance. A mix of old posters, sign-up sheets, and a daily activity schedule covered it. Vi squinted at the paper detailing the afternoon’s events, trying to parse the scrawled handwriting.
“Ah, man,” she said, skimming the flyers. “They still do that interpretive dance thing in the amphitheater every Tuesday night?”
“It’s… surprisingly popular,” Ekko offered with a shrug.
Before Vi could add anything, a voice called out behind her.
"Vi!"
She turned to see Mel walking toward her, flanked by Viktor and Loris. Her golden earrings gleamed in the sunlight, and her smile was dazzling. Everything about her screamed Cabin Ten —effortlessly confident, impossibly stunning, and fully aware of it.
“Well, if it isn’t Medarda,” Vi said, leaning back on her heels as the group approached. “Someone definitely cranked up the Aphrodite genes while I was gone, huh?”
Powder groaned loudly, clapping a hand to her forehead. “Gods, Vi, could you not ?”
Mel laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Don’t worry, Powder. I’m used to it. Flirting is just her way of saying hello.”
Vi chuckled and angled her attention toward Viktor, giving him a quick once-over. He looked a little paler than she remembered, still leaning on a crutch, but he carried himself with quiet determination. His face split into a small, warm smile as soon as he locked eyes with her.
“Hello Violet.” He inclined his head in greeting. “We’re glad you’re back. I trust the transition’s… not too overwhelming?”
“Eh, I’ll survive,” Vi said, returning his smile. “What are your plans for the afternoon?”
Loris, leaning comfortably against a pillar, cut in. “We’re heading to a Combat Strategy & Tactics session. Wanna join in?”
Vi snorted, crossing her arms. “Combat strategy, huh? What the fuck for? Just hit harder than the other guy, and you’re golden. Trust me, works every time.”
“Of course you’d say that,” a voice cut in, dripping with both disdain and elegance.
Vi froze. The accent hit her first—crisp, refined, and undeniably British. She turned slowly, and her gaze landed on a girl standing just behind Mel, arms crossed and head held high. Tall and impossibly graceful, she had long, dark hair tied into a neat ponytail under a white military cap and sharp cerulean eyes that pinned Vi in place. She was dressed in a shiny new armor set, over an impeccably neat camp shirt, every detail of her appearance painfully perfect. And gods, she was gorgeous.
It irritated Vi instantly.
“Do I know you?” Vi asked, her face turning into a sneer.
“Child of Ares , I presume.” The girl guessed, voluntarily emphasizing her father’s name with a tinge of disgust.
“Oh, Vi, you’ve never met Caitlyn, have you?” Mel interjected, her voice light and amused, like she was enjoying every second of this. “Let me do the honours. Caitlyn Kiramman, daughter of Athena. Vi Lanes, daughter of Ares.” She motioned to both of them as if they were now meant to shake hands.
Vi’s jaw clenched slightly. Of course. She didn’t need to be told the girl was Athena’s new poster girl. The smug superiority radiating off her was enough of a clue.
“Toots, this is my sister I told you about!” Powder beamed, latching onto Vi’s arm, as if totally oblivious to the tension.
“Toots?” Vi blinked at her sibling, baffled. Were they close ?
She turned back to find Caitlyn’s gaze raking over her in a slow, appraising sweep—like she was either judging Vi’s combat potential or eyeing her. Heat flashed across Vi’s cheeks, half fury, half… something else.
A tiny spark of satisfaction lit Caitlyn’s eyes as if she sensed Vi’s discomfort. She tilted her chin up, feigning politeness with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Hm, pleasure to meet you,” she said, voice smooth as silk. It felt more like a dismissal than a greeting.
Mel, clearly sensing the brewing storm, tried to intervene with a light laugh, but Caitlyn spoke up first. “We really must be going,” she remarked, as though addressing the group, but her steely gaze remained on Vi. “Combat Strat starts in 5. Can’t have the few campers with brains waiting.”
Her posture radiated poise, and Vi bristled in response. Every instinct shouted at her to say something snarky in return, but the words tangled in her throat. Instead, she forced herself to stay silent, fists clenched at her sides.
“Later, Vi,” Caitlyn added, the hint of a smirk playing on her lips. “I’m sure I can spare a moment to show you the difference between brute force and actual fighting skills some time.”
She spun on her heel and walked off, posture rigid with control, leaving Vi burning in silent fury.
Mel and Viktor exchanged glances, then hurried after her. Powder cleared her throat, looking apologetic. “So… that was Cait.”
Vi exhaled sharply, eyes lingering on Caitlyn’s retreating figure. “Yeah,” she muttered, pulse still pounding. “Good to know.”
*****
Vi spent the rest of her afternoon trying to shake off the tension left by that far-too-brief encounter with Caitlyn. First order of business: dropping Powder off at the Forge. Her sister was practically bouncing with excitement, eager to show off her latest contraption to the other Hephaestus kids. Vi let her go with a ruffle of the hair and a half-smile before heading off on her own.
She passed by the Pegasus Stables, snagging a Diet Coke from a clunky old vending machine nearby. She tossed in a couple of golden drachmas, muttering to herself that Mr. D. was a rat for monetizing basic refreshments.
Her boots kicked up dust as she approached the Arena, an open-air stone structure where a mix of campers—mostly from Hermes, Nike, and Ares cabins—practiced swordplay under the watchful eye of their instructors. She settled into the stone bleachers, twisting the can open with a hiss and sipping the soda as she watched.
She wasn’t there long before a steady trickle of campers sauntered up to greet her. One kid from Hebe’s cabin started bombarding her with questions about prison life, asking if the rumors of her shanking someone were true. Vi answered with a wicked smirk and a flippant “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” which only made the camper more wide-eyed. It felt good to be back in a place where she was more than just a convict.
When the actual sparring started, Vi found herself muttering predictions a few seconds into each bout. “Too open,” she’d say to no one in particular, or “Dude, keep your shield up.” She was right every time—footwork, posture, the tilt of a sword—all giving the outcome away.
She’d just called the final strike of yet another match when she felt a stare. Beside her sat a tan-skinned guy with short brown hair shaved at the sides, small horns curling above his temples, and the gangliest goat legs she’d ever seen. He appeared both impressed and confused.
“Bro,” he said, brown eyes wide, “how the hell did you guess that?”
Vi shrugged, taking a last gulp of Diet Coke. “Dude was leaving his left side wide open. And he’s too hesitant with the blade. No chance.”
“Cool,” the satyr commented, eyeing her empty can. “You done with this?”
Blinking, she shook the can, listening to the fizz-less swish of the last drop. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”
He extended his hands in an unmistakable “gimme” motion, wiggling his fingers like a begging puppy. Bemused, Vi tossed him the can, and his face lit up before he started chomping down on the aluminum.
She snorted. Satyrs , she thought, shaking her head.
Just then, the lead camper for the sword-fighting session strode over, a broad grin lighting up his face. He was decked out in full sparring gear—chest plate, arm guards, the works—looking like a statue straight out of Versailles.
“Sup, Garen,” Vi greeted, returning his smile.
“Your turn, Lanes!” he announced, pitching his voice so everyone in the area could hear.
Vi raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so now that you’re cabin counselor, you think you can just order me around?”
Garen chuckled. “I’m pretty sure you’re dying to show off.” He gestured toward the Arena’s center.
“Only if I get to kick your ass,” she teased back.
“By all means.”
A clear ripple of anticipation spread through the crowd. Campers paused mid-conversation, mid-swing—some whispering, others nudging each other with wide-eyed grins. Vi smirked, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline when she realized all eyes were on her.
“Who am I to deny the people?” she said, pulling off her leather jacket. She turned to the satyr, raising her voice just enough to be heard over the chatter. “Hey, goat-boy—hold this for me. I won’t be long.”
He gurgled a noise of acknowledgement through a mouthful of can as she tossed him the jacket.
Flexing her shoulders, Vi stepped forward, her grin widening. “Alright, Crownguard,” she taunted, rolling her neck to loosen up, “let’s give ’em a show.”
*****
Vi took one last steadying breath, her feet shifting in the sand for traction as she locked eyes with Garen. Then, in a blink, they were on each other.
He swung first, a measured, powerful slice across her midsection. She sprang sideways, parrying hard enough to jar her shoulders. The impact rang through her smaller sword, rattling her teeth. At once, she darted in, forcing Garen to backpedal with a sharp diagonal cut aimed at his torso. He blocked, sparks flying where steel met steel, his massive blade nearly knocking hers from her grip.
“Gotten slow, Crownguard?” she taunted, circling around to his right.
Garen merely grinned, lunging in again with a swift upward stroke. “I’d say you’re the one out of practice.”
He wasn’t wrong. Three years away meant he’d caught up, maybe even surpassed her in raw strength. But Vi wasn’t about to let him see the flicker of doubt she felt. She kept moving, staying light on her feet and letting him chase her around the arena, searching for an opening.
They traded strikes, each blow more ferocious than the last. The crowd roared at every narrow miss and every scraping clash of steel on steel. Adrenaline thrummed in Vi’s veins. A quick downward block saved her from a slash to the thigh, but Garen followed through with a backhanded swing that caught her shoulder, slicing through the thin fabric and grazing skin.
She hissed, ignoring the stinging pain. “Not bad,” she muttered, taking advantage of their close quarters to smash the hilt of her sword into his forearm. He grunted, staggering a step as she darted back, trying to catch her breath.
“Still scrappy, huh?” Garen said, flexing his fingers with a wince. His grin didn’t falter. “This is why I missed sparring with you.”
Their exchange had barely lasted a minute—it felt like an eternity. Vi’s chest heaved, sweat beading on her forehead. A sudden shift in the stands caught her attention, and her gaze flickered up. Caitlyn stood there, watching. With that haughty, unflinching stare and her arms folded neatly over her pristine camp shirt. Vi’s heart kicked in her chest, a sudden flush of anger—or something else—spiking through her veins. Watch this, princess.
She looked back at her opponent just in time to see him rushing in again, sword angled for a decisive blow. She braced, lifting her own blade to parry. The impact rattled her arms. The second strike followed, heavier than the first. This time, she pivoted, using Garen’s own momentum to flick his weapon aside—and sent it spinning out of his grasp into the dust behind her.
Garen froze for a moment, glancing at his empty hands, then back at her. “Damn,” he commented, a rueful laugh escaping him.
The arena erupted in cheers, campers leaning forward in anticipation of the finish. Garen stumbled back, hands raised instinctively, but Vi didn’t go for the final sword strike. Instead, she grinned—sharp and wild—and dropped her weapon.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
She shot a sideways grin at Caitlyn—just a split-second glance—then lunged forward with her fists.
“Really?” Garen managed, startled, before Vi’s knuckles slammed into his jaw.
What followed was a brutal flurry of punches, kicks, and grapples, the two of them kicking up dust as they wrestled. Garen, massive as he was, landed a few glancing blows—one snapping Vi’s head back hard enough to bruise her nose, another jarring her shoulder. But she gave as good as she got. Her knuckles grew slick with blood—she wasn’t sure whose.
Somewhere in the crowd, a voice called, “Holy shit, is this still a sparring match?” Another added, “This is an Ares kid fight, dude. Of course it’s like this.”
Within moments, she had him on the back foot, each well-timed punch driving him closer to the edge. She feinted left, then swung right, smashing an uppercut into his chin. Garen hit the sand with a grunt, staring dazedly at the sky.
A thunderous cheer erupted, and campers flooded the arena floor. Vi spat a bit of blood onto the sand. Her shoulder ached, and she could feel her shirt sticking to the shallow cut underneath, but she felt overwhelmed by a savage sense of satisfaction.
Her eyes searched the crowd again, locking onto Caitlyn. The girl’s expression was nothing short of disapproval. She rolled her eyes at Vi, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe the barbarity on display. Disgust practically radiated from her posture, and Vi’s stomach clenched at the sight. She took a single step forward, ready to rub her victory in Caitlyn’s face—or maybe goad her with a smirk—before a hearty clap to her back nearly knocked her forward.
Garen, dust coating his hair and fresh bruises already forming, had climbed to his feet. “You haven’t lost your touch,” he said, flashing his bloodied gums.
Vi wiped her nose with the back of her hand, tasting copper. “We didn’t exactly have access to swords in juvie, but turns out forks do the trick just fine,” she quipped with a crooked smile.
Garen barked a laugh, shaking his head. “Forks, huh? I’ll remember to steer clear of you at dinner.”
Vi snorted, tossing her hair back. “Smart move.”
He turned aside to accept someone else’s congratulations, still chuckling under his breath. Vi glanced back to the bleachers, her heart thudding. The midnight-haired girl was nowhere in sight—already gone.
Vi let herself be swept into the crowd, the adrenaline of victory buzzing in her veins. She should be riding the high. Grinning, maybe gloating. But instead, her mind kept circling back to a certain disgusted expression, to the way Caitlyn had dismissed her without a second glance.
Vi scowled, shaking it off. Whatever. Athena kids were always like that—arrogant, uptight, completely convinced of their own superiority. Nothing new. Nothing to be pissed about.
And yet, hours later, she still was.