The black car glided smoothly along the cobblestone streets leading up to the Met. Inside, Priscilla sat with her dad and James, her older brother. The air in the car felt heavy, though not in a way that made her nervous. She was far from the girl who once doubted whether moments like this would ever come to life for her. No, tonight was different. Tonight was the premiere of Percy Jackson, and Priscilla had earned this. The heavy velvet fabric of her gown brushed against her legs, her mind softly marveling at the contrast between the gilded beauty of the Met and the polished darkness of the night around them.

Her dad was beside her, leaning back comfortably. His face was relaxed, but Priscilla could see the shimmer of moisture in his eyes, despite his attempts to suppress it. James, her brother, glanced back and caught their father staring at her through the rearview mirror.

"Stop it, Dad," James groaned, rolling his eyes. "It's just a premiere, not a funeral."

Her dad let out a shaky laugh, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. "I know. I can't help it. I've seen you grow up through all your ups and downs, and now here you are, walking into something that's way beyond anything we ever imagined. I'm proud of you."

Priscilla felt the warmth of his words. It wasn't something she heard often—his pride was always there, quiet but present. Still, it caught her off guard now, making her throat tighten. "Dad," she murmured, reaching out to take his hand. "It's not a big deal, really."

James snorted from his seat beside her. "Big deal or not, we'll be here all night if you keep crying about it."

Her dad chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine, fine. No tears. Not tonight."

The car pulled up in front of the Met, and as they stepped out, Priscilla took a deep breath. The grandeur of the museum stretched out before them—the glowing marquee lights, the marble staircase, the sea of people milling about. Paparazzi clicked away at the arrival of celebrities, capturing the electric energy of the night.

Priscilla couldn't help but take it all in. The Met was exactly as she'd imagined: stunning, almost surreal. The architecture, the beauty, it all seemed to shimmer against the night sky. She could feel the pulse of excitement thrumming beneath her skin as she adjusted the long train of her pink gown—her dress a nod to Aphrodite, even though she kept that thought to herself.

Her dad was already ahead of her, walking toward a group of men standing near the base of the staircase. As she followed, Priscilla caught sight of Walker's dad. He was waiting for them, standing with his usual quiet confidence. Her dad approached him, and they embraced, a mutual respect between them. They had been friends since college, their connection was something unspoken yet solid.

"Dad," Priscilla called, her voice light, not wanting to interrupt the moment but eager to keep moving.

Her dad turned, offering her a reassuring smile. "You'll be great," he said, his voice steady, though she could still see the lingering emotions in his eyes. He was like that—proud of her in ways that didn't always come out in words.

James gave her a playful nudge. "Go on, Sis. I'll be around if you need anything. You got this."

Priscilla watched her father walk off, disappearing into the crowd, leaving her standing at the base of the staircase. For a moment, she stood still, the weight of the night settling on her shoulders.

She saw James wondering ahead, his eyes already scanning the crowd as he made his way toward Charlie, his closest friend. They had formed their own little circle of familiarity amidst the chaos, a steady presence in each other's lives.

"Priscilla Myers!" A voice broke through her thoughts, and she turned to see a group of fans gathered at the side. Their excited chatter filled the air as they reached out, some holding copies of The Lightning Thief and others waving homemade posters.

A smile crept onto her face as she approached them, their energy infectious. She signed a few copies, chatting briefly with the fans, listening to their excited squeals of appreciation. A girl leaned in, giggling.

"We almost thought we'd miss you," she said. "Walker said you'd be late."

Priscilla's brows lifted slightly at that. "Walker, huh? What else did he say?"

The girl grinned. "That you're always on your own time. But it's totally fine. You're here now, and you look amazing."

Priscilla chuckled softly, brushing her hair over her shoulder. "Well, that's reassuring."

Another girl leaned forward. "We all think you and Walker would make a cute couple."

Priscilla let out a light laugh, the kind that didn't feel forced. "Thanks," she said, amused but not taking the comment seriously. They both expected this after the casting announcement came out, Walker and Priscilla had heard that sentence from family members a million times too many, a random girl that she wouldn't remember come tomorrow saying it didn't affect her all that much.

They giggled again, all of them sharing a knowing glance, though Priscilla didn't catch on. She wasn't one to think too deeply about those things. Not yet.

Turning from the fans, Priscilla continued her slow ascent up the stairs. The crowd around her thickened, each step bringing her closer to the grand entrance of the Met. As she reached the top, she spotted Leah and her mom, along with Leah's brother. They were standing by one of the columns, and without hesitation, Priscilla made her way toward them.

"Leah!" she called out, hugging her from behind. She squeezed tightly, pressing a quick kiss to Leah's cheek.

"Oh my god, thank god you're here," Leah said, her relief evident as she hugged Priscilla back. "I was not about to hit that carpet without you."

Priscilla gave her a small smile. "You would've managed." She turned to Leah's mom and brother, exchanging polite greetings.

The small group fell into easy conversation, chatting about the excitement of the night, the preparations, and everything in between. Priscilla couldn't help but feel at home with them, even among the chaos. The crew buzzed around them, capturing candid shots, interviews, and snippets of conversations. Cameras flashed, but Priscilla barely noticed. She was too focused on the warmth of their presence.

Eventually, they made their way through the grand entrance of the Met. Inside, the atmosphere was electric—filled with elegance, laughter, and anticipation. They stepped onto the red carpet, and Priscilla immediately felt a wave of awe wash over her.

The grand hall of the Met stretched out before her, marble floors gleaming, chandeliers casting a golden glow. The air buzzed with excitement. Cameras flashed as they moved through the crowd, and Priscilla noticed her dad in the distance, camera in hand, capturing everything.

"Priscilla!" someone called her name. She turned around to see an interviewer, waving her over.

"Hi, John," she greeted recognizing his familiar face. She offered a polite smile as he gestured for her to stand before the camera. He adjusted the microphone and began asking her questions, his voice warm and familiar.

"Priscilla, it's so great to have you here. How are you feeling tonight?"

Priscilla grinned, "I'm great. Excited, mostly. A little nervous, but good nerves, you know?"

"This is a huge night for you and the entire cast. What does Percy Jackson mean to you?"

Priscilla took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. "It means everything," she said, the truth pouring out effortlessly. "These characters have been such a big part of my life—reading the books, connecting with them, seeing myself in their journeys. To be a part of bringing that to life is surreal."

John nodded, his eyes gentle. "And your favorite moments from filming?"

She smiled, her thoughts drifting to the cast, the crew, and the bonds they had formed. "Definitely the moments we spent together, off-screen. The friendships we built. It's more than just a job; it's a family."

As she answered, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to the side, only to see Walker.

She frowned. "Walker, what—?"

Before she could finish, he slipped past her, leaving her staring after him, amused. She turned back to the camera, her lips curling into a smile despite herself.

Priscilla took a deep breath, glancing at John, who was still waiting for her response. The buzzing energy of the red carpet around her faded into the background as she gathered her thoughts once more. She had almost forgotten Walker's sudden interruption.

"Sorry about that," she said, turning back to John, the amusement still tugging at her lips. "Where were we?"

John smiled. "No worries. Let's pick up where you were talking about the set. How was working with the cast and crew on Percy Jackson?"

Priscilla let out a small laugh, her voice steady as she spoke. "It was honestly one of the most incredible experiences of my life. The energy on set was so collaborative, and the cast became like family. I've always admired the characters and getting to bring them to life alongside such talented people... it's something I'll never forget."

As she finished, she caught sight of Aryan a few feet away, deep in conversation with another interviewer. Her lips curved into a soft smile as she moved toward him, cutting through the crowd.

"Aryan!" she called, throwing her arms around him from behind. "Sorry for interrupting your moment."

Aryan turned with a grin, clearly not surprised. "Always gotta be on camera Priscilla. I should've known."

She hugged him tightly, reveling in the comfort he always provided. "You know I've got to represent."

Aryan chuckled, pulling back just enough to look down at her. "How're you feeling?

Priscilla blushed slightly. "Good. Nerve-wracking but good."

He sent her a small smile "Well you're doing great so far"

Before she could respond, she spotted Walker again, this time talking to Jonathon Steinberg on the other side of the carpet. His familiar figure was unmistakable—casual, yet with that effortless charm. He was laughing about something, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

Priscilla couldn't help but smile as she approached him, a mix of fondness and amusement settling in her chest. She slipped beside him, giving his arm a light nudge.

"Interrupting again?" Walker asked without looking at her, his tone teasing.

"Just trying to find my way through all these interviews," Priscilla shot back, tilting her head with a smirk.

He turned to her, finally catching sight of her in full form. For a moment, he faltered. His smile faded slightly, replaced with something quieter, more thoughtful.

"You look...pretty," he said, almost too softly for her to hear.

Priscilla arched an eyebrow, pretending not to notice his change in demeanor. "Well, thank you. I happen to think I look pretty all the time, don't know why we're just commenting on this now."

His blush was subtle, but it was there, like the faintest trace of warmth across his face. "Well just because you think something doesn't mean it's true."

Before either could say more, Dior came bounding up, throwing her arms around Priscilla from behind.

"There you are! I was starting to wonder if you'd never come ," Dior said, squeezing tightly.

"Not possible," Priscilla replied, laughing.

Dior rolled her eyes. "Please. Don't act like you don't pull off disappearing acts all the time with this one." She said, hand wiggling in Walker's direction.

Walker scoffed. "So that's actually not factual" he retorted sarcastically.

Before the conversation could move, on the call of their names drew their attention to the middle of the blue carpet where cast and crew were gathering for one huge group picture.

Priscilla shook her head, taking a step back as Dior finally let go. They began walking again, heading toward the line of photographers waiting for them. Walker fell into step beside her.

They continued down the red carpet, surrounded by the hum of chatter, the clicking of cameras, and the flashing lights that seemed to blind Priscilla temporarily. As they approached the photo area, Dior and Charlie dragged her along, insisting they all take a picture together.

"Smile, Priscilla!" Dior said, flashing a grin.

Walker stood on her other side, his arm brushing lightly against hers as they arranged themselves for the photo. The director called out, positioning them perfectly. Priscilla couldn't help but glance at Walker again, the way his expression had softened, the way his smile lingered a little longer than usual.

The camera flashed, capturing a moment of camaraderie, of youthful excitement.

When the photo was done, Priscilla caught sight of her dad, standing off to the side, his camera raised as he snapped away. She waved to him, tears shimmering in his eyes, and for once, she didn't brush it off.

The happiest smile broke across her face, her heart light. She felt a rush of warmth as she took in everyone around her—her dad, her brother, her friends, and even Walker, who looked more comfortable here than anywhere he'd been for a long time.

At that moment, she didn't need words. She simply felt the overwhelming joy of being surrounded by people who believed in her, who loved her. And that, more than anything, made her heart swell