You’ve noticed it for a while now. Frankie’s been slipping—more irritable, more distant. The easygoing guy who used to joke around has become quieter, withdrawn, and more prone to snapping at the others. Lately, he’s always somewhere else, his mind lost in a place you can’t reach. Physically present, but his energy feels… off. You keep hoping it’s just a phase, but today, it hits you harder than ever.

You’re on a weekend trip in the woods with the group. The plan was simple—get away, enjoy the peace of the forest, and bond. Everyone’s laughing, cooking, and playing games together, but Frankie’s been quieter than usual. When he does join in, it’s forced, lacking his usual spark.

At first, you thought it was just the hiking or the fact that he’s never been into camping. But you know him better. He’s always the one to get everyone moving, keep the mood light. Now? He’s checked out. You’ve caught glimpses of him slipping away, disappearing into the woods or retreating to the cabin’s back porch with vague excuses.

This morning, it gets worse. The group gathers around the campfire for breakfast, but Frankie’s missing. You find him behind the cabin, sitting against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. He’s staring at his hands, distant, lost. You hesitate, unsure if you should interrupt, but then you catch sight of what he’s holding—a small, crinkled bag. His fingers tremble as he grips it, and your heart sinks as you realize exactly what it is.