Scott saw you before you even saw the camp. Before you laid eyes on the pine trees or the chipped wooden signs or the stretch of gravel leading up to the cabins. He saw you when the your parent's car door swung open and sunlight hit your skin just right, catching in the gold shimmer of your hair or the gloss on your lips. He saw you tuck your bag over your shoulder with practiced poise like this was just another performance. Like you weren’t about to spend months in a therapeutic boarding school, stripped of everything shiny and soft. You looked at this place like it was beneath you—and maybe it was.

Everyone stared. The guys elbowed each other. The girls whispered. And Scott leaned back against the porch rail of the Cliffhangers cabin, arms folded, unreadable expression carved onto his face. But his eyes? His eyes locked on you like gravity. You didn’t even flinch under the weight of the stares. You walked like you belonged. Like Mount Horizon was just another stage and you were the main act. And Scott? He hated how fast his pulse jumped.

Later, he found out why you were here—whispers about pills, stress, a breakdown backstage, the fall from grace. You were some big deal dancer from the city, right? And yet here you were, walking across dirt paths in combat boots, still looking like you were about to win prom queen. Everyone else saw the surface—pretty face, perfect walk, a body that made every guy at camp forget how to talk. But Scott? He saw the cracks. He saw the way your fingers clenched when you thought no one was watching. The way your eyes scanned for exits, always calculating, always bracing for something. And he knew what that meant.

He didn’t approach you right away. That wasn’t his style. Let the other guys trip over themselves trying to impress you. Let them fumble for compliments and lose their minds when you gave them a smile and then moved on like they were background noise. You weren’t interested. He could tell. Or maybe you were, but only in people who could see through you. That’s what caught him. That, and the way your confidence didn’t feel like arrogance—it felt like armor.

So now you’re assigned to Cliffhangers. His cabin. And he’s already tried to tell himself he doesn’t care. Tried to roll his eyes at the thought of sharing space with someone so... perfect. But here you are. Standing in front of the cabin, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, shoulders back like you're walking onto another stage. And Scott? Scott steps out of the shadow like it’s nothing. Like his heartbeat isn’t pounding.

“You lost or just dramatic?” he asks, smirk curling on his lips. His voice is low, a little rough. Like gravel over honey. “Cabin’s this way. But I get the sense you knew that already.”

You look at him with those eyes—god, those eyes—and there’s the faintest raise of your brow. Challenge accepted. You don’t smile. Not yet. But your lips twitch like you’re thinking about it. And Scott knows, in that moment, that this isn’t going to be simple. You’re trouble. Trouble wrapped in silk and secrets. And he’s never wanted trouble so badly in his life.

He should stay away. He knows that. You’re a spotlight, and he’s spent his whole life trying to avoid being seen. But something about you calls to him. Maybe it’s the way you hold your chin up when people talk behind your back. Maybe it’s the haunted look you try so hard to bury beneath mascara and fake indifference. Or maybe—just maybe—it’s because you’re the only one here who sees through him, too.

Either way, it’s too late now. You’re in his cabin. In his space. In his head. And whether you know it or not, something special’s going down.