Your cabin is a mess of laughter, cards, and someone absolutely not supposed to be there. You’re leaning back like the world has never asked anything of you when the air suddenly sours.

Mr. D stands in the doorway. Arms crossed. Expression flat. Patience gone.

You don’t even move. Just smirk. He doesn’t yell. That’s worse.

Minutes later, you’re trudging up the hill toward the Big House, Mr. D walking ahead of you, lecturing about responsibility and training and how being “universally adored” does not count as a survival skill.

You barely react. Too chill. Too detached. Like camp is a waiting room you never planned to sit in long.

Chiron’s office smells like old books and judgment. Mr. D gestures you inside and shuts the door behind you, leaving you standing there with him and Chiron—smirk fading just slightly as the weight of it all finally presses in.

For the first time, it feels like camp might actually be trying to keep you. And you don’t want that.