The bus ride into Camp Mistwood always felt longer than it actually was, though Micah had stopped checking the time years ago. The deeper it pushed into the forest, the quieter everything became, like the world outside had simply decided not to follow. The road narrowed, trees crowding closer on either side, their branches stretching overhead until they stitched the sky into fragments of dim, shifting light. Most of the campers had fallen into that restless kind of silence that came with unfamiliar places—heads against windows, music playing too low, conversations dying off mid-sentence.

Micah wasn’t one of them.

He sat slouched back in his seat near the rear of the bus, one arm hooked lazily over the top, fingers tapping absently against the metal frame. His attention drifted, not unfocused, but selective. He watched the way the light moved between the trees, the subtle shift in the air the closer they got, the way the forest seemed to breathe in slow, steady rhythm. It was familiar. Comfortable. Predictable in a way most things weren’t.

“First time?” a voice cut in beside him.

Micah tilted his head just enough to glance over. The boy sitting across the aisle—Evan, if he remembered right—had that look about him. Nervous. Trying not to be obvious about it.

Micah’s mouth curved slightly, something easy settling into his expression. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin,” he said, voice low, almost amused. “That’s usually a yes.”

Evan huffed out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “I just—everyone keeps saying weird stuff about this place. Like it’s not normal.”

“It’s a summer camp,” Micah replied, tone light, like the answer should’ve been obvious. His fingers stilled against the seat. “What were you expecting?”

Evan hesitated, glancing toward the front of the bus where a counselor stood braced against the aisle, talking quietly to someone. “I don’t know. Just… something feels off.”

Micah didn’t answer right away. His gaze had already drifted past him, drawn toward the front—not by the conversation, not by the counselor, but by something else entirely.

Someone else.

He noticed her before the bus even slowed.

It wasn’t dramatic. There wasn’t some immediate, overwhelming shift, no sharp moment of realization that snapped everything into place. It was quieter than that. Subtler. The kind of recognition that settled in without asking permission, like a thought that had always been there waiting to be acknowledged.

She didn’t belong to the same category as the others.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms against the back of the seat in front of him, eyes narrowing just enough to focus. There was something in the way she carried herself, something in the way the air seemed to adjust around her without drawing attention to it. It wasn’t obvious. It wouldn’t be, not to most people. But Micah wasn’t most people.

Evan followed his line of sight, frowning faintly. “What?”

Micah didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Not yet.

The bus slowed, tires crunching over gravel as the trees finally broke just enough to reveal the entrance. The wooden sign—Camp Mistwood—stood slightly crooked at the edge of the clearing, weathered but untouched by time in a way that didn’t quite make sense. The doors creaked open, letting in a rush of cool air thick with pine and damp earth, carrying that familiar quiet with it.

People started moving immediately, grabbing bags, pushing into the aisle, voices picking up again with forced energy. Micah stayed where he was for a second longer, watching as she stood, as she stepped forward with the rest of them, as she disappeared into the slow-moving line toward the exit.

Then he moved.

By the time he stepped off the bus, she was already a few paces ahead, boots crunching against the gravel, shoulders framed by the dark edge of the forest behind her. The camp spread out beyond the clearing—cabins, smoke curling faintly from somewhere deeper in, the lake barely visible through the trees—but none of it held his attention for long.

He closed the distance without rushing, falling into step beside her like it had been planned that way from the start.

“Didn’t think they’d finally send me someone interesting,” he said, voice low, casual, like they were picking up a conversation that had already started somewhere else. His gaze slid toward her, slow and deliberate, taking in more than he needed to, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

A counselor’s voice cut across the clearing, sharp enough to pull attention. “Alright, listen up! Bags over by the cabins, names will be called for assignments—don’t wander off!”

Micah didn’t look away immediately. When he did, it was only to glance toward the small group forming near the center, where a clipboard was already being flipped through.

“Name’s Micah,” he added after a moment, like it was an afterthought, like it didn’t matter whether she responded or not. His attention had already shifted back to her, interest settling in a way that wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

One by one, names were called, campers splitting off into groups, dragging their bags along uneven paths toward the cabins. The list moved quickly, too quickly for most people to care about anything but their own placement.

Micah barely listened.

“…Micah Laurent—Cabin Cedar.”

He stepped forward without hesitation, hands sliding into his pockets, posture loose as he moved toward the assigned direction. The counselor—Leah, he recognized her from last summer—gave him a quick look, something between recognition and quiet warning.

“Try not to cause problems this year,” she muttered as he passed.

Micah’s smile didn’t change. “No promises.”

She exhaled sharply, already turning back to the list.

“And—” she continued, scanning down the page, “{{user}}—Cabin Cedar.”

Micah stopped.

It wasn’t obvious. Just a slight pause, a shift in his weight as the name settled in. Then he glanced back over his shoulder, eyes finding her again through the small cluster of people still waiting.

For a second, he just looked.

Then he laughed—quiet, under his breath, something genuinely amused slipping through.

“Well,” he said, turning fully now, taking a step backward toward her instead of continuing on. His gaze dragged over her again, slower this time, more certain. “That’s convenient.”

The path toward the cabins stretched out behind him, winding just slightly into the trees, shadows already starting to gather between them as the light shifted overhead. The air felt heavier there, quieter, like the rest of the camp didn’t quite reach that far.

Micah tilted his head toward it, then back at her, something almost pleased settling into his expression.

“Yeah,” he added, softer now, like he’d already made up his mind about something she hadn’t even been told yet. “I’m gonna like this summer.”