BLURRED | Annabeth Chase

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attack

• • •

It hadn't even been one hour, yet Hazel was already miserable.

No, miserable was the wrong word. There was always a unique sense of freedom that she felt whenever riding Arion, and that freedom felt a lot like happiness. Hazel wasn't miserable; she would just rather be riding back towards Frank rather than away from him.

But this was her mission, and she wasn't going to fail it. More than that, she wasn't going to fail Annabeth.

Wind rushed through Hazel's hair at an impossible speed as Arion ran across the ocean, the water not slowing him down one bit. Hazel checked over her shoulder to make sure the chariot strapped to Arion remained intact. It slowed Arion's speed slightly, but it was necessary; Hazel wasn't exactly sure how many people she was saving. Luckily, the straps were tight, and the chariot flew behind them like a stream of golden fire.

It wouldn't take much longer to reach Miami, but there was always an added element of danger whenever a demigod walked on the Earth; She always seemed to find them. Hazel's plan was to get in and out of the formerly heavily populated city as fast as possible. It made the mission more difficult that she didn't know exactly where she'd be meeting Annabeth, but with Arion's speed, Hazel wasn't worried about spending too long searching for her.

The wind burned at Hazel's eyes, but she refused to close them. Mist sprayed up from the ocean, keeping both horse and girl cool beneath the hot Sun. For a second, she allowed herself to relish in this feeling of freedom, to fall into this blissful sense of happiness. She smiled fearlessly into the wind.

But they were at war. And war refused to wait on happiness. So Hazel forced the moment to end, and dug her knees into Arion's side.

More than anything, Hazel feared that she'd be too late to save Annabeth.

• • •

Annabeth feared that it was too late. Their trek to the edge of Miami was noticeably missing Cameron, and anxiety invaded every one of Annabeth's thoughts.

She chewed on her lip as she walked forwards, following closely behind Clarisse. Annabeth's lip was bleeding and it stung, but she couldn't stop herself from continuing to bite it. And everyone else seemed too exhausted to notice.

The strange goat/man named Grover had long since fallen silence. Over the first few days, he had attempted to speak to Annabeth, expecting her to remember the past life she had apparently had. The thought of it alone made her grit her teeth; didn't they know that forgetting wasn't her choice? That if she could remember, she would have already chosen to do so? Certainly her memories would tell her why everyone expected so much from her, why everyone winced when Annabeth asked questions.

Two days ago, Grover had brought up that name again. Percy. There had been a horrified look on his face when Annabeth asked him who that was.

"It's Percy," Grover had said, visibly troubled. "You've known him since you were like twelve. And you've been dating since you were sixteen. Annabeth, it's Percy."

Annabeth didn't have the heart to tell him that she didn't know how old she was. So she had merely fallen silent, and Grover had quickly done the same. Now, Annabeth couldn't remember when she had spoken last.

Annabeth stumbled, and ran into Clarisse. She had started to mumble an apology when the other girl turned to glare at her.

Clarisse's brown eyes held an urgency that Annabeth had grown to recognize. Danger was near.