Imagine Percy has gone off to help some hapless campers once again, and Annabeth isn't too worried because come on, it's PERCY. Then she reaches into her pocket for something, some change or her keys maybe, and instead she pulls out Riptide in its pen form.
Her fingers close around something narrow and smooth, and Annabeth’s heart stutters to a stop in her chest.
The kids are dancing around her knees, squealing and hitting out at each other, each calling for her attention, and the baby’s balanced on her hip and crying because her favourite pacifier has gone missing and the gods know she won’t accept any replacements. They’re running horrendously late for lunch with Frederick, and it’s pure chaos, but everything slows down as Annabeth pulls her hand out of her pocket and looks down to see the pen. The magical pen that is always meant to find its way back to Percy’s pocket.
But it’s not in Percy’s pocket, it’s in hers, and that means that he’s gone out to help rescue some campers stranded by the Hudson without any weapon.