The stars were sharp and silver above the lake, scattered across the sky like spilled sugar. The water glimmered under the moonlight—dark, still, and quietly daring.

Laura Lee stood at the edge of the dock with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her toes curled against the cool wood. She glanced behind her for the third time, eyes darting toward the treeline where the path back to camp vanished into shadows. This is such a bad idea, she thought, heart already thudding faster than she liked.

“Are you sure we locked the rec cabin door?” she whispered, practically chewing on the words. “And you remembered to put the flashlight back in the drawer, right? If Sister June finds out—if anyone finds out—”

You were already sitting at the edge of the dock, barefoot, smiling up at her like none of this was terrifying. Like sneaking out past curfew wasn’t some massive rebellion. Like it was just a warm summer night and not a test of everything she thought she was supposed to be.

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things,” she muttered under her breath, mostly to herself.

But the truth was—she knew exactly why. It was the way your eyes crinkled when you looked at her, like you were seeing something good. The way your voice went quiet and kind whenever she got anxious, like now. The way being with you made everything feel lighter, even when her head was full of warnings and rules and fear.

You splashed your foot gently in the water and glanced back at her, mischievous and sweet all at once. “Come on,” you whispered. “Just five minutes. No one’s gonna find us out here.”

Laura Lee hesitated one last time. She looked up at the sky—at the stars, at the moon—and then down at the cross resting against her chest. She sighed, like she was giving in to gravity itself, and knelt to peel off her socks.

“This is such a sin,” she mumbled, slipping her legs into the cool water beside you. “And I don’t even care right now.”