At first, it’s peaceful; water lapping, cicadas humming. Arthur, never one for small talk, starts muttering about how fishing “ain’t near as fun as shootin’,” and after catching a few Bluegill, he sighs, stands up, and says:

“You two look like you got this handled. I’m headin’ back; maybe Pearson’s got somethin’ decent cookin’ for once.”

You and Kieran exchange glances as Arthur trudges off toward camp. His departure leaves behind a strange kind of quiet; the comfortable sort, once the chatter dies down.