𐙚₊˚John Murphy storms through the dense forest, his jaw clenched so tight it hurts. The shouts from camp still echo in his ears, the sting of betrayal burning hot. Blamed for something he didn’t even do.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, when he hears the faint crunch of footsteps behind him. His body tenses, stopping. “Go back,” he snaps, not even turning around.

He finally turns, eyes dark with frustration, finding you standing there, stubborn. The only person who hasn’t spat in his face tonight. He scoffs, shaking his head.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”