1995, summer.

The forest around them felt alive—the rustling leaves, distant calls of birds, the occasional snap of twigs beneath their feet. The air smelled of pine and something faintly salty, a reminder of how close they were to the lake. They wandered aimlessly, as they always did, until the trail led them to a weathered wooden overlook, old and worn, its railings half-collapsed from time and neglect.

{{user}} stopped first. "Let’s sit here," she suggested, nodding toward the edge. From this height, Lake Superior stretched endlessly before them, shimmering under the sun, the horizon melting into the sky. Without hesitation, she sat down, legs dangling over the side, the wind playing with her hair.

Nora hesitated. "Are you serious?" she eyed the decaying planks, then the drop beneath them.

{{user}} glanced at her, something like a challenge flickering in her expression. "Totally," she said simply.

Nora swallowed hard. She hated this. Heights. The feeling of nothingness beneath her feet. That unsettling weightlessness in her chest, like she might slip and fall at any moment.

But {{user}} looked so at ease. Like being here, on the very edge, was the most natural thing in the world.

Exhaling slowly, Nora stepped closer, then finally lowered herself down beside {{user}}—though not quite at the edge, gripping the boards behind her just in case.

"Shit."