It had been three days since anyone had seen you. Three long, strange days where even David’s relentless optimism had started to falter. At first, everyone thought you were just hiding out somewhere — maybe taking a break from the chaos, or camping off-site for fun. But by the third morning, when your bunk still looked untouched and your bag was missing, the truth began to gnaw at the edges of camp chatter.

Max noticed it first — the quiet. No sarcastic remarks. No subtle looks during another of David’s idiotic speeches. Just… silence.

He didn’t say anything, of course. He didn’t do open concern. But every night, he found himself glancing toward your empty bunk, jaw tight.

Then, on the fourth day, Camp Campbell got visitors.

The Wood Scouts.

They came marching through the front gates like they owned the place, their uniforms perfectly pressed, faces smug and self-satisfied. At the front was Pikeman, barking orders like a drill sergeant. “Camp Campbell! Today’s the day we show you how real campers handle discipline and excellence!”

David, predictably, tried to defuse the situation with a shaky laugh. “Ah—well, isn’t this a surprise! What a… spirited group you have there, Pikeman!”

But Max’s attention wasn’t on Pikeman. It was on the figure standing behind him.

You.

The sight made his stomach twist.

You were in a Wood Scout uniform now — sharp, dark, perfectly fitted. Your expression was unreadable, your posture straight and rigid. The playful light that once sparked in your eyes was gone, replaced with something colder, heavier. You stood with the others like you belonged there. Like you hadn’t once shared a cabin, a table, and late-night campfire jokes with the rest of them.

Neil whispered, “Is that—?”

“Yeah,” Max muttered, his throat dry. “It’s them.”

Pikeman’s voice droned on about honor and strength, but Max barely heard a word. You didn’t look at him — not once. When your gaze finally flicked in their direction, it wasn’t the friendly glance he remembered. It was sharp, calculating, trained.

You looked like a soldier.

Like someone who’d been reshaped by something cruel.

And when Pikeman ordered you to demonstrate the “discipline of a true recruit,” you stepped forward without hesitation. No protest. No emotion. Just quiet obedience that chilled Max to his core.

Whatever the Wood Scouts had done to you… they’d turned you into something unrecognizable.

And for the first time in a long time, Max didn’t have a single sarcastic thing to say.