The night fell heavy over Camp Campbell, thicker and quieter than usual. The others had already gone to their cabins, the embers of the campfire glowing faintly as the woods settled into silence.

You sat alone at the edge of the fire pit, the orange light flickering against the scars Daniel had left — the ones no amount of David’s optimism or Gwen’s forced sympathy could erase. Everyone at camp knew what happened. It was impossible not to. Daniel had nearly killed you—experimenting, purifying, torturing until you barely clung to consciousness.

And yet, you were still here. Still good. Still kind. Still… you.

Max approached quietly, hands jammed deep in his hoodie pockets. He wasn’t looking at you at first — his eyes were glued to the ground, jaw tight. He stopped a few feet away, hesitating like he wasn’t sure he should be asking what he needed to.

“…I don’t get you,” he muttered finally.

He sat beside you, not close enough to touch, but close enough that your warmth reached him. The fire snapped softly.

“You know,” Max said, voice lower than usual, “most people would’ve turned out… different. After what he did to you.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortable.

“I mean—he practically tore you apart,” he went on, bitterness sharpening his tone. “Treated you like some kind of lab rat. Like you were just… something he could break.”

He finally looked at you — and his expression wasn’t the usual glare or forced indifference. It was something almost vulnerable.

“And you’re still here being… good.” He spat the word, like it made no sense. “Helping people. Being nice. Acting like it didn’t screw you up.”

Max’s voice wavered for a split second — barely noticeable, but there.

“You had every right to go full supervillain after that. Or at least tell everyone to screw off. But you didn’t. You don’t.”

He swallowed hard, then looked away again, staring into the flames as if searching for answers there.

“How do you do that?” he whispered. “How do you stay… you?”

For the first time that night, Max’s shoulders dropped just a little — not in defeat, but in something closer to awe.

He didn’t touch you. He didn’t move closer. He just waited, eyes fixed on the fire, trying to understand the one thing about you he couldn’t explain.