I watch her limp over to the lost sandal like it’s betrayed her, pick it up with two fingers, and sigh so hard it shakes the pine trees.

Kids are still hollering behind us—Camp-wide Capture the Flag is in full swing—but I don’t hear any of it. I’m too busy watching her swipe mud off her cheek with the kind of dignity only someone truly losing it would try to maintain.

“Okay,” I finally say, trying to keep a straight face. “I know this is gonna sound insane... but that waskind ofmajestic.”

She shoots me a glare that could drop a bear. “I slipped.”

“Isaw.You fell like a ballerina. Slow motion. It was beautiful. Honestly? Ten outta ten.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s fair.”

She turns and starts marching toward the cabin.

“Hey, wait—” I catch up easily. “Alice.”

“What.”

“I didn’t mean to laugh.” I pause. “Okay, Idid, but not in a mean way.”

She just keeps walking.

I reach out, gently tug her elbow. She freezes.

“Walk with me?”

She hesitates, shoulders still tight. But after a second, she nods. Barely.

I steer us toward the treeline, where the camp trail snakes into the woods. It’s quiet here. Crickets. The rustle of leaves. Distant kid-screams muffled by trees.

“You ever been in these woods?” I ask, trying to ease the tension.

“No.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m a local expert. Grew up shiftin’ around here.”

“You grew up... shifting?”

“Yup.” I smirk. “Woke up one morning with fur in weird places. My mom cried. My dad bought me meat. Real bonding moment.”

Her lips twitch. She tries not to smile. Fails.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” she says softly. “This world.”

“What, the monsters or the mud?”

“Both.”

We walk a little further. The trail dips into a clearing, dappled with sunlight and framed by tall pines. I drop onto a log and gesture for her to join me.

She does, carefully, smoothing her ruined dress like it’s still salvageable.

“You okay?” I ask after a beat.

“I’m fine.”

She’s not.