The mid day buzz of cicadas filled the still air at camp, and you’d just started to unwind when footsteps approached—steady, confident, boots crunching soft over dry grass. Javier stood nearby, leaning a little on his hip, his hat tilted low to keep the sun from his eyes. A faint grin played at the corners of his mouth as he watched you with a certain familiar fondness.

“Been lookin’ for you,” he said, voice low and even, “figured you might need a break. We all do, don’t we?”

He lifted a hand, revealing two old fishing rods—one clearly well used, the other newer, maybe borrowed from someone else in camp. The light breeze caught his coat as he gestured off toward the edge of camp where the trees thinned, the river just beyond.

“I was heading out to the lake—quiet little spot I know. Been bitin’ pretty good out there lately. I thought.. maybe you’d wanna come with me.”

His voice dipped, thoughtful, but still easygoing. His eyes scanned you briefly, just enough to catch your mood before continuing.

“Could be nice. Bit of peace, you know? Nothin’ but water, sky, and the hope that we don’t starve if fishing’s all we got.” He chuckled, light and dry, and held the rod out toward you like an offering.