Page 75 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

And with the firelight flickering in the distance and the stars finally coming out to play.

I believe him.

CHAPTER 26

JASON

The mess hall’s packed. Not like food-fight packed, but elbow-to-elbow, sticky-sweaty-summertime kind of packed. Every bench is crammed with campers, half the staff is hovering near the back wall sipping lemonade out of chipped enamel mugs, and Hazel—twelve-year-old witch and part-time social dictator—is center stage in a sequined cape, holding a wooden spoon like a microphone.

“Welcome,” she declares, “to the Camp Lightring End-of-Summer Talent Extravaganza!”

The kids erupt into cheers. Nolan lets out a dragon-roar that rattles the rafters. Rubi, somehow already wearing three different camp T-shirts at once, waves two handmade flags like she’s about to lead a magical coup.

I’m standing stage right with a clipboard and a lopsided grin, half-playing emcee backup and half-babysitter to Ferix, who’s dressed in what Ithinkis supposed to be a Shakespearean cape made out of a bedsheet and duct tape.

Alice is across the room near the snack table, surrounded by kids and gently separating a glitter spill from a bowl of popcorn. When our eyes meet, she gives me this smile—soft, proud, a little amused.

And yeah, I’d walk through fire just to keep seeing that look.

The first act is Nolan.

He marches onstage with a hand-drawn comic book tucked under his arm and a poster-sized page he unrolls for the crowd. The title saysTHE DAY THE DRAGON SAVED HIMSELFin jagged letters.

He clears his throat, and his voice shakes a little, but he plants his feet.

“This is a story about a dragon who didn’t want to fight anymore. Who just wanted to build things. So he did.”

The room goes quiet.

He flips the first page.

And then the next.

By the end of the story, half the campers are leaning forward like it’s a real-life bedtime tale and Rubi’s actually crying into a marshmallow.

When he bows, the whole room claps like it’s Broadway.

I step up beside him, squeeze his shoulder. “Nailed it, bud.”

He beams. “Did you see them? Theylistened.”

“Yeah, they did.”

Because you’re magic, kid.

You always were.

Next is a musical number from Cabin E, some weird fusion of kazoo and ukulele that somehow turns into a choreographed interpretive dance. Halfway through, a camper shifts into a tiny raccoon and just starts clapping with his paws.

Ryder, the merman lifeguard, heckles them with sea puns from the snack bar.

Ferix does his “orc monologue” next, which is mostly him yelling in faux-Shakespearean about honor and peanut butter sandwiches, but honestly? It slaps. The crowd goes wild.

When Rubi and two other campers perform a synchronized baton routine with glow sticks and minor levitation spells, Aliceleans into me from where she’s now standing at my side and whispers, “I think I’m witnessing actual chaos magic.”

I whisper back, “It’s the Rubi effect. She’s the real head counselor here.”

She laughs, and the sound burrows under my ribs like a warm ember.

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