Will sat beneath the old climbing tower, knees pulled to his chest, hoodie sleeves tugged down over his hands. Camp had quieted for the night, the echo of distant laughter fading into crickets and rustling trees. The sky stretched wide above him, stars poking through slowly like they were afraid to be seen.

He exhaled. It was too quiet.

He didn’t know why this place messed with his head. Maybe it was the kindness. The space. People acting like he wasn’t broken just because of one stupid file or one bad decision.

But he remembered what it felt like to be thrown in the back of a squad car. The sound of the door slamming shut. The way no one looked at him like a kid who made a mistake—they looked at him like he was the mistake.

He could still feel that cold metal bench under him.

Will grabbed a rock from the dirt and tossed it weakly toward the gravel, watching it skid to a stop.

He wasn’t supposed to stay this long. This whole camp thing was just a way to avoid juvie—another stop on the road. A timeout. But then... people started remembering his name. Smiling like it wasn’t a favor. Talking to him like they weren’t waiting for him to screw it all up.

He didn’t know how to live in that kind of world.

His eyes stung.

He wiped his sleeve across his face, angrily.

“You’re not crying,” he whispered to himself. “You’re just tired.”

But he was tired of pretending he didn’t care. Tired of acting like none of this touched him. It did. It was touching parts of him he thought were already long gone.

He looked up at the stars, eyes narrowing.

“What if I’m not that kid anymore?” he asked the sky.

There was no answer. Just wind in the trees.

But for the first time, he didn’t feel invisible.