CHAPTER 1:

My birthdays were always filled with those sucky moments; be it monsters attacking my home, or being at war with Titans, I suppose you could say my birthday sort of became a somewhat taboo subject among my friends and family.

So, imagine my surprise when I walked into the office at a bright and sunny 0800 hours to see Abby Sciuto at my desk staring carefully at a brown paper parcel and letter in the in-tray.

The parcel was wrapped with a silver and grey swirling ribbon and the letter had a cursive scrawl I immediately recognised as Annabeth's.

"Morning," I muttered, taking a sip of my coffee; strong, but not black, with one sugar and plenty of caffeine. In the mornings, ever since returning from the Marines, I usually have a double shot, but occasionally, on days like my birthday, I had a single shot or none whatsoever. I looked to Abby, silently asking the same question I asked every year.

Abby shook her head, but gave me a bright smile, "Not yet, Perce. This did arrive for you though. By the way, happy birthday!" Giving me a brief hug, Abby picked up the parcel and handed it to me, eagerly awaiting for me to open it.

Shaking my head, I placed the parcel back on my desk and reached for the letter.

"Wait a second, it was Nemo's birthday? When?" For some reason, Tony had always marvelled at the fact that while I was in high school I was often monitored by scouts for State and Olympic Teams.

Smirking, Ziva lightly elbowed him as she walked past, pulling me into another hug. I smiled, recognising her perfume as the same my mother used. "Despite not knowing as much as others when it comes to your culture, I do know how to wish one an excellent birthday."

Thanking her, I reached for the package on my desk. Abby remained beside me, eagerly awaiting to see its contents.

I pulled the brown paper away and opened the brown cardboard box. Inside were photos. There were images of myself and Annabeth, grinning and laughing at the camera – probably held by Grover; photos of camp over the years, the arena and campfire littering many shots; beautiful images of the beach at different times in the day. I picked up a photo of Annabeth, laying against a tree trunk right near the cove on the beach, smiling up at the camera as she held a leather bound book to her chest.

"Who's that?" Tony asked, gesturing to the image in my hand, "She's cute."

"She is the writer of this letter." I said, hesitantly reaching toward the white envelope.

Dear Percy,

I realise it's been a while, but I'm afraid there's reason for that. Life around here has been insane – more so than usual.

About six months ago, everything went wrong. Campers went missing and then we'd find some of them in the forest beside camp, dead. Nobody has claimed it as their doing but Uncle Z and Hera and my mother still blame you. Your dad has stuck by your name the whole time, telling everyone you're innocent. And I know that's true – I know you're innocent – but sometimes I seem to forget that I know it. Mom's still trying to find you. Honestly though, how have you stayed hidden? I don't know where this letter goes, nor do I know how it arrives. I just write Percy Jackson and it winds up with you. That said, you are Percy Jackson, yes?

I don't know if I told you this but I'll say it anyway, just to be sure. Ever since the death of Travis, Katie has been so sad and depressed. She died, a month ago. Katie used her own powers to kill herself. It was horrific. Connor was so upset that we sent him home to his mother. I hope he'll be okay.

In the past three years, over fifteen campers have been killed – either through depression or unknown ways. All of them seem to go back to that day those three years ago. I have to go, Percy. Miss you heaps, Seaweed Brain!

Love,

Wise Girl

P.S.

I don't know if I can do this anym-

Blinking my eyes slowly, I noticed two droplets on the paper, staining the writing. Annabeth's printed scrawl was beginning to blur from the salted water. I concentrated on the water quickly, evaporating it as to not blur the writing any more.

Abby removed the paper from my hands and attempted to read it, but evidently found that she couldn't. Her nose scrunched up and she almost glared at the paper, as if her mortal enemy. I often found myself wondering if she was a daughter of Athena – especially given she was adopted – but given her brother, I quickly quietened those thoughts.

"It's ancient Greek, don't bother, Abs."

Taking the page back, I read it aloud. Ziva and Abby gasped on occasions – Abby going so far as to cover her mouth while I read. My reading stopped at the same place as before because, like last time, I couldn't continue anymore.

The skin at my neck began to crawl, shivering in wait. Gibbs. I spun around and saw the agent walking down the stairs. "Gear up!" he called from the landing.

"Where are we goin', Boss?" Tony asked, reaching for his pack.

Gibbs rounded the corner and walked over to his desk, grabbing his gun and badge. "The pier, civilian death. The Director wants us to investigate."

"Why's that, Boss?" McGee asked. He grabbed his bag, laptop firmly tucked inside.

Gibbs nodded toward me, "Him."

-(O)-

I looked down at the body and tried to fight the blood draining from my face and head. My hands were fisted in my pockets and I could practically feel the blood pumping through my veins.

The ocean around me surged. The waves, further out away from the pier – near the rocks, began to thrash harder against the waters, reacting to my unease. "He certainly doesn't look like a marine, Boss." Tony said.

The body was slim and pale, no muscle mass to be seen. "That's because he isn't," I said, watching the waves grow larger, "His name was Connor Stoll, had an older brother and mother but both passed away."

I felt like I wanted to crawl into a hole, maybe die an equal as horrible death and Connor and Travis.

"How do you know, Jackson?" Gibbs asked.

Shaking my head, I tried to fight the salty water in my eyes. A shaky breath was released from my breath, trying to dispel my nerves.

Ziva stepped beside me, evidently noticing my jump when she touched my shoulder. "Percy?"

I looked at the boards beneath my feet, my dark converse disappearing under my black jeans. "He was my friend. Look," I muttered, "I have to go. Good luck with the case, guys." I spun on my heel and walked down the pier. My fists were shaking in my pockets and I could feel my pulse beating in my ear.

Pulling my helmet on over my head, I remembered that horrible conversation years ago.

"We sentence Perseus Jackson to death in Tartarus by enemy hands."

Zeus' voice echoed in my head again, his comment looping on repeat like a broken record.

"Death in Tartarus" in murmured, "By enemy hands."

Shaking my head again, a feminine voice replaced that of the thunder god. "Good Luck, Perseus… You'll need it."

A tear fell down my cheek, remaining warm from the wind by the helmet. That part of my life is dead. It will never return. A mantra that usually filled my mind with peace, the phrase I told myself constantly seemed to fill me with dread.

If the gods discovered that Connor was dead, I knew our paths would cross. They would hunt down exactly who I was. The person that took everything. The person that started this silent war.

What if that person really was me?