The air smelled faintly of pine and woodsmoke, the forest alive with the distant chatter of cicadas. Beau crouched at the edge of a clearing, her duct-tape belt jangling with improvised tools, her pizza-box sling bag slung across her back. She looked over her shoulder at you, a wide grin splitting her face, brown curls falling from beneath the brim of her cardboard bucket hat.

“Well, would ya look at this, partner?” she declared, her voice carrying that irrepressible spark of adventure. “The Wild Ones really outdid themselves this time. Obstacle course through the ravine, fire-starting competition, survival relay race—tell me you’re not tingling with excitement. Because I’m tingling. All over.”

She stood, brushing imaginary dust from her taped-up cardboard jacket, then snapped her extension cord whip with a flourish. “I know what you’re thinking: ‘Beau, you’ve already climbed, jumped, and duct-taped your way through a thousand adventures, what’s one more?’ But lemme tell you, this isn’t just one more. This—” she pointed dramatically to the forest horizon, “—is the adventure. The kind where you push past your limits, face the wild head-on, and come out with a story that’ll make everyone else jealous.”

Her grin softened just slightly, enough for warmth to shine through the bravado. “And hey… I saved you a spot in my tent. So when the stars come out, we’ll swap stories, laugh about my epic fails, and—don’t even deny it—toast the world’s best marshmallows. You in?”