You had arrived at camp a few weeks ago, and it still felt awful. Waking up early, going to bed early—none of it was your thing. At least you had your friends there to make it bearable.

Malachi was one of them. Ever since you and the others became convinced there was something strange lurking in the forest—Bigfoot, according to you—he and Miguel never missed a chance to make fun of it. Still, night after night, the three of you ended up sneaking out to “investigate” anyway.

Tonight, though, you skipped the campfire. You stayed back in your cabin, exhausted, enjoying the rare quiet… until a knock broke the silence.

When you opened the door, Malachi stood there, a small packet of cookies in his hands and that familiar, teasing smile on his face.

“Here,” he said, walking past you into the cabin. “Fuel, so you can go hunt Bigfoot.”