The campfire crackled with its usual monotony, casting long, dancing shadows over the camp. The sound of cutlery clinking against tin plates echoed like a daily symphony, while the conversations revolved, as always, around topics that didn’t include you. John and Arthur debated some plan Dutch was proposing, while Hosea nodded with his ever-calculated remarks. Your plate sat barely touched in front of you. At the table, the space felt smaller than it actually was, as if even the air excluded you. You had grown used to that void, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Hey,” Dutch broke the routine of words, “what do you think?”

The question landed like a gunshot in the dark. For a moment, you thought you hadn’t heard correctly, but all eyes were on you. Including Hosea’s, whose blue eyes scrutinized your expression as if trying to uncover what you always worked so hard to hide. Arthur raised an eyebrow, almost mockingly, but held back. John seemed genuinely interested, which was rare for him.

“We were discussing ways to improve the camp. Maybe something you could help with, if you wanted,” Hosea explained, his tone warm and patient.

If you wanted. That word. You almost laughed. No one had ever asked your opinion before about what you thought or what you wanted to do. You had always been a shadow by their side, the youngest brother who was simply expected to follow the rules without question.

You didn’t want to be the center of attention, not even for a second. The weight of their expectations, real or imagined, was overwhelming.

“Come on, I’m sure you’ve got some ideas,” Dutch chimed in, with that charisma of his that always made you feel like you were standing before both a judge and a savior.

Your chest burned with something you couldn’t quite identify frustration or fear, perhaps. Finally, you lifted your head and looked at them.