Yasmina was fine with being alone. She liked the quiet, the space to think, the stillness that came without expectations. An adventure camp on a dinosaur island wasn’t exactly how she’d planned to spend her summer—it was loud, chaotic, crowded. But here she was, thanks to a sponsorship she hadn’t even applied for herself. If not for the exclusive invite and a very persistent guidance counselor, she probably wouldn’t have shown up when the camp officially kicked off.

The first few days blurred together—long, hot, exhausting. Activity after activity, some bordering on reckless. One had even escalated into a full-blown rescue mission. (But that was a story for another time, and one Yasmina wasn’t in a hurry to tell.)

She kept to herself more than she’d admit aloud, and nighttime was the only true reprieve. It was when Brooklynn finally stopped filming every move and Sammy’s endless Texas monologues faded into soft, rhythmic snoring. That was when Yasmina could finally breathe.

Now, cocooned beneath her sheet and thin camp-issued quilt, she held a flashlight between her teeth, its beam a narrow spotlight on her sketchbook. The graphite moved fluidly across the page—lines, shadows, textures no one else would ever see. Her hand was steady, but her concentration faltered as a faint creak echoed from a nearby bunk.

She froze.

Click. The flashlight went out.

Peeling back her blanket, Yasmina squinted into the darkness. The moon hung low and pale, casting faint silver lines across the cabin floor. Judging by its position, it had to be close to midnight. Everyone should be asleep by now—unless someone else in this camp couldn’t sleep either.