It had been twelve days since the woods. Twelve days since the creature. Since the vines. Since her. Whatever she was. Camdyn hadn’t stepped beyond the Perimeter once. He’d heard the backlash—message received loud and clear.

  His journal sat untouched in the back corner of a drawer. Not that he had time for it these days anyhow. His father was quick to lay down a punishment. He was sentenced to community service, otherwise known as busywork. It was usually reserved for the young to teach them hard work and gratitude. But this? This was just a public way of making an example of him.

  Camdyn had spent the last two weeks toiling in the fields, mending fences, and shoveling out the stockyards. He didn’t mind helping out, but it was just so…draining. Like treading water and never going anywhere. Worst of all, it kept him from the infirmary.

  Still, he took it. Every task, every order, every side-glance from the others. Not because he thought he was wrong. Not entirely. He knew what he saw in the woods, what he felt. But disobeying his father—their leader—that was something else entirely. That was the part that lingered. That pulled at him in quiet moments.

  After a particularly long battle with a particularly filthy chicken coop, Camdyn rinsed off the day at the communal shower stations. They weren’t impressive by any means—certainly didn’t hold up to the standards of its predecessors—but they worked. They were akin to off-grid showers, gravity-fed, and shoddily constructed of sheet metal and tarp. The water ran cold as ice, but as the saying went, it was better than no shower at all.

  Camdyn dried his hair with an old rag, then draped it over his shoulders as he sat at the edge of the bed. His eyes drifted to the window as a gentle breeze rustled the vines that hung there.

  He stared at them, remembering how they’d wrapped around him. Soft, but strong. Like a warning. Or a ceasefire. He still wasn’t certain. But he did know it changed him. Ever since the woods, he viewed nature differently. Viewed most things differently. Everything felt more alive now. More connected.

  He hadn’t told anyone what he really saw out there. Not everything. And no one asked.

  He doubted they’d believe him, anyway. People knew magic existed. They knew magical entities existed. But not anything humanoid. Not unless you believed in bedtime stories.

  They were terrified enough as it was. He couldn’t imagine what that kind of revelation would do to them.

  He wasn’t even fully sure himself. Maybe it was a hallucination. A fever-dream born of fear and adrenaline. But the images were too vivid, the feelings too sharp. It hadn’t felt like something imagined. It had felt real.

  A soft knock at the door broke through his thoughts. Camdyn closed his eyes, suppressing a groan. “Not now, Mom—”

  “Mom? I must say I'm offended.” the voice said lightheartedly “I know I’m getting older, Cam, but not that old I hope.”

  “Raya?”

  “Yeah, knucklehead. Are you decent?”

  He had barely said yes, before she came through the door, carrying two mugs. She gestured “scooch” with her head and he complied, shifting over on the mattress.

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  “Aren’t you on guard duty today?”

  “I got out early on good behavior,” she smiled, flashing her teeth. “Here.” She handed him one of the mugs.

  Her mood was starting to rub off on him; he returned the grin. “A smidge early for alcohol, don’t you think?”

  She scoffed. “It’s tea. I’m not a drunkard, Cam.” Then, she muttered into her drink, “At least not during the day.”

  He took a sip from his mug and savored its warmth.

  “Chamomile? Fancy.”

  “They used to give it to me when I first got here,” she said casually. “Said it would help me sleep.”

  “Did it?”

  She smiled faintly, her eyes distant for half a second. “Eventually.”

  After sitting in silence for a beat or two, Raya looked at him, her expression soft but steady. “You’ve been quiet.”

  “I’ve been compliant,” he grumbled. “Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

  She took a sip of tea. “Clearly, not everyone. ”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Look, Cam, I know you pissed off your parents and it seems like they’re never going to forgive you. But parents worry and then they overreact, that’s just what they do.”

  “I think after everything that’s happened, maybe they have a right to.” Defeat hung heavy in his words, sinking between them like a weight.

  She could see how much he was haunted by this and she wondered how long it had been eating away at him. “Parents are protective, and they always think they’re doing what’s best for their kids. But sometimes… they get it wrong, ya know. At the end of the day, they’re just people.”

  He stayed quiet, but she saw the tension in his shoulders loosen just a little.

  “I saw something change in you out there,” she continued. “You broke the rules, sure, but you did it for a reason. You did something you believed in, even when no one else stood behind you. And that spark? That’s rare, Cam. I’d hate to see it get snuffed out just because everyone else is too scared to understand it.”

  He blinked at her, caught off guard. The last thing he expected was for Raya to be supportive.

  “But it’s not like that,” he muttered. “I don’t even know what I saw out there. It could’ve been nothing.”

  She tilted her head, half-smiling. “Cam, if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you don’t get this worked up over nothing. Maybe you don’t have all the answers yet—but maybe that just means you should keep looking.”

  She leaned in a little. “They’re all just scared. But fear doesn’t get to be the only voice in the room.” She reached out, gently resting her hand over his. “So if you ever decide to go back out there… just promise me something.”

  He looked at her, searching her face.

  “Tell me first,” she said. “So someone can watch your back next time.”

  Something shifted in his chest then. A flicker, small, but sure.

  “Thanks for the tea, Raya.”

  She nodded knowingly, “Anytime.”