The swamp air hung thick and sticky over the Lemoyne camp, the slow buzz of insects humming beneath the cicadas. Somewhere in the distance, a bullfrog let out a deep croak. Lantern lights flickered across the tents.

Javier sat by the fire, idly tuning his guitar, though he hadn’t played a note in minutes. He glanced toward the dark waterline just beyond the edge of camp. It always felt too close out here. Too many things that moved just out of sight.

He leaned back slightly, arm resting across his knee, eyes scanning the edge of the trees.

And then—his voice cut through it, smooth and casual, like he wasn’t saying something that was a bit worrying to think about.

"Do you ever worry that one of them alligators is gonna walk into your tent one night?"