Summer of 1993 – Ashcombe Forest The night was warm, and the air seemed to breathe along with the earth. The campsite rested in silence. The tents were scattered across the small clearing, lit only by the trembling light of a dying fire. The scent of burnt wood and damp grass hung in the air, mixed with the distant chirping of a lonely cricket. The wind barely moved — it was a still night, heavy, the kind that clung to skin and thoughts alike. Isabella was awake. Lying on her sleeping bag, she stared at the canvas ceiling above her head and tried to ignore the heat. Her clothes stuck to her body, and the air inside the tent felt trapped, thick. But the discomfort wasn’t what kept her awake. The restlessness came from somewhere else — from a silence she couldn’t decipher, and that had a name: Damon. He had always been around. Her best friend since they were fifteen, the boy who laughed too loud, who mocked everything, who followed her into every little adventure. But on this trip, Damon seemed… different. Quiet. Withdrawn. As if he’d locked himself inside and lost the key. She had noticed the way he stared at the fire earlier that evening, cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers, his mind somewhere far away. She had tried to talk — jokes, stories, anything — but he’d only smiled faintly, without really being there. Now, hours later, that same silence filled the tent. She sighed, sitting up. One of her friends was snoring softly beside her. The others slept soundly, exhausted from the hike and the cheap wine they’d shared before turning in. Isabella unzipped the tent flap and felt the warm night air touch her face. Outside, the forest was a mass of blue shadows. The waning moon shone through the trees, its reflection trembling over the lake just a few meters away — a silver streak between the branches. The sound of water barely reached her, a faint whisper against the shore. Then she noticed something. A movement. A ripple. For a moment, she thought it was only the wind, but there was rhythm — a pattern to the way the surface broke. Someone was there. She squinted. And when the figure emerged from the water, droplets sliding down a shoulder under the pale moonlight, her heart recognized him before her mind did. Damon.