The sun was setting over Hackett’s Quarry, casting golden light through the trees and painting the old cabins in warm hues. Emma lounged on the porch steps, phone in hand, scrolling through her latest batch of photos. She glanced up, catching sight of Abigail sketching quietly nearby, her notebook balanced on her knees and a faint smile on her lips.

“Hey, Abi, check this out,” Emma called, waving her phone. “I swear, this filter makes me look like I actually slept last night.”