Marshall POV

The fire is perfect.

Not too big, not too small—just enough heat that you can feel it on your face without roasting. Everyone's close, not crammed, just... comfortable. Laughing. Passing marshmallows. Talking over each other in that easy way that only happens when nothing feels fragile.

I lean back on my hands, Everest's knee pressed against mine, her shoulder warm where it brushes my arm.

This is one of those moments you don't realize you're going to remember until it's already happening.

Sitting here with all my friends, the trees quiet around us, the stars barely visible through the branches—I honestly don't know how anything could go wrong.

Which is exactly why my stomach twists.

Because with me, something usually does.

I don't say it out loud. I never do. But the thought sits there anyway, like a warning label I can't peel off. Every good moment comes with this quiet countdown in my head, like I'm waiting for the universe to tap me on the shoulder and say, Alright, that's enough happiness for you.

Everest nudges me gently. "You're doing the thing."

I blink. "What thing?"

"The staring-into-the-fire-like-it's-about-to-explode thing," she says, half-smiling.

I huff a quiet laugh. "Am I that obvious?"

"Only to me," she replies.

That somehow makes it better and worse at the same time.

I look around the circle again—Chase and Skye arguing about burnt marshmallows, Liberty leaning into Tuck like she's anchoring him without even thinking about it, Tracker and Wild sitting close but not showing off, Coral listening more than talking but smiling anyway.

It all feels... right.

Too right.

"I keep thinking I'm going to jinx it," I admit under my breath.

Everest tilts her head, studying me. "You don't have that kind of power."

I wish I believed that.

I pick up a stick and poke at the fire, watching sparks lift and vanish. "Every time things get good, I start waiting for the drop. Like I'm supposed to be ready."

"For what?" she asks.

"For messing it up," I say. "Or something happening that I can't fix."

Everest reaches over and laces her fingers through mine. Firm. Real.

"Hey," she says quietly. "Nothing is wrong right now."

I swallow. "I know."

"And if something does go wrong," she continues, "we'll handle it then. Not before."

I nod, even though my brain doesn't fully agree yet.

I squeeze her hand, grounding myself in the warmth of the fire, the sound of my friends, the fact that for once I'm not running or fixing or apologizing for something that hasn't even happened.

Maybe this time, I don't need to be waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Maybe this moment is allowed to just... be.

I sit there a little longer, breathing in pine and smoke and laughter, telling myself—

Nothing is wrong right now.

And for now, that has to be enough.

I spoke too soon.

The thought barely finishes forming before the sound cuts through the night.

It's not loud. That's the worst part.
A low rustle. Slow. Heavy. Somewhere beyond the edge of the firelight.

Every single one of us hears it. I can tell because the laughter dies all at once, like someone flipped a switch.

Then Rubble says it.

"Um... guys?" His voice is quieter than usual. "Are there bears out here?"

No one answers him immediately.

The fire pops, suddenly too loud. Somewhere behind us, a branch cracks—not sharp like someone stepping wrong, but thick. Deliberate.

My stomach drops straight through the ground.

Everest's fingers tighten around mine. "Marshall," she whispers.

"I know," I say, even though I don't know anything. My heart starts pounding, that familiar here we go feeling crashing in hard. Of course this is when something happens. Of course it is.

Skye sits up straighter. "Okay. Nobody panic."

Chase snorts softly. "That's never how this works."

Another rustle. Closer this time.

Rubble swallows. "I'm just saying, because if it is a bear, I would like to be emotionally prepared."

Tracker's already on his feet, scanning the tree line. "There are bears in this area," he says calmly. Too calmly. "But they usually stay away from people."

"Usually," Sweetie echoes. "Love that word."

Tuck shifts beside Liberty, his breathing changing just enough that I notice. Liberty's hand is on his knee instantly, grounding him without a word. Ella glances over, checking him too.

I force myself to stay still.

Nothing is wrong right now, I told myself five minutes ago.

Yeah. Sure.

"Okay," Zuma says, low and steady. "Everyone stay close to the fire. No sudden movements."

"Why does everyone suddenly sound like they've done this before?" I mutter.

Everest squeezes my hand. "Eyes up, Marsh."

I swallow and nod, heart racing, adrenaline flooding in whether I want it or not. The shadows beyond the fire feel thicker now, the dark pressing in like it's listening.

Another sound—this time unmistakable. A snort. Deep. Close.

Rubble lets out a very small, very terrified noise. "I would like to formally apologize for asking that question."

My brain is screaming I knew it, I knew it, I knew it—that old fear that good moments don't last, that something always comes to prove me right.

But I don't run.

None of us do.

We stay together, backs to each other, fire crackling between us and whatever's out there.

Whatever happens next, it's not just on me.

And for the first time when things start to go wrong, I'm not alone in the dark.

The shadows move.

My heart is already in my throat, adrenaline screaming bear bear bear—and then the firelight catches faces instead of fur.

Three figures step out of the bushes.

Human. Upright. Smirking.

Jet.
Dwayne.
Hubcap.

I actually let out a breath before my brain catches up, and then immediately regret it.

I should've known better.

Jet never just shows up.

He doesn't wander into places by accident. He doesn't hover at the edge unless he's deciding who to poke first. He's not here to pass through—he's here to get something.

A reaction. A crack. Proof he still has power.

The three of them step fully into the firelight now, close enough that I can see the way Jet's eyes light up when everyone tenses. Like he feeds on it.

"Well damn," Jet says, clapping his hands once. "Look at this. Little group therapy in the woods."

Dwayne laughs too loud. Hubcap circles a bit, slow, invasive, like he's testing how close he can get before someone snaps.

My pulse spikes.

Jet's gaze lands on Chase first. "Didn't peg you for the camping type," he says. "You look more like 'panics when there's no Wi-Fi.'"

Chase doesn't rise to it. Doesn't blink.

That annoys Jet.

So he pivots.

"Skye," he continues, smirking. "You always this loud, or is that just when you're trying to cover for people?"

Skye stiffens, jaw tight, but she stays quiet.

Jet clicks his tongue. "Wow. Growth."

He steps closer.

Too close.

Zuma shifts instantly, putting himself between Jet and Ella. "Back up."

Jet grins wider. "Relax, man. I'm just talking."

"No," Ella says sharply. "You're baiting."

"Ooo," Jet laughs. "She does talk."

Dwayne snickers. Hubcap stops pacing and plants himself near the edge of the circle, blocking one side like that's not deliberate at all.

My stomach twists.

Jet's eyes finally slide where I knew they would.

Tuck.

My chest tightens before I can stop it.

"Well I'll be damned," Jet says, voice dropping, slower now. "Look who's out of his bubble wrap."

Tuck doesn't move—but I can see it. The way his shoulders tense. The way Liberty's hand tightens on his arm. The way Ella shifts closer without even looking.

Jet notices all of it.

"Ohhh," he says softly. "You need a support team now? That's adorable."

That's it.

That's the line.

Tracker steps forward, voice calm but lethal. "You're done. Leave."

Jet ignores him completely, eyes locked on Tuck. "You know," he says, leaning in just enough to be threatening, "I was wondering how long you'd last before you needed everyone else to breathe for you."

My hands curl into fists.

Everest squeezes my fingers hard, grounding me, but my head is screaming do something do something do something.

Liberty moves.

She doesn't shout. She doesn't shove.

She simply steps directly in front of Tuck, solid as a wall.

"That's enough," she says. "You don't get to talk to him. You don't get to be here. And you don't get a reaction."

Jet scoffs. "You his handler now?"

"No," Liberty replies evenly. "I'm his boundary."

That lands.

I see it on Jet's face—the flash of irritation. Because this isn't what he came for. He wanted fear. Anger. Chaos.

Instead, he got resistance.

Fifteen people standing their ground.

Chase steps up beside Liberty. Then Zuma. Then Tracker. No words. Just presence.

Outnumbered. Witnessed. Unrewarded.

Jet's smile slips.

"Whatever," he mutters, backing up a step. "Bunch of freaks playing happy campers."

Dwayne hesitates like he wants to say something else, but Hubcap tugs his sleeve, low and urgent.

They retreat—not fast, not scared—but annoyed. Like a bully who didn't get the payoff.

The forest swallows them again.

The moment they're gone, my legs feel weak.

I exhale hard. "Okay," I say shakily. "I take it back."

Everest looks at me. "About what?"

"I would much rather have dealt with a bear."

A few laughs break the tension—thin, but real.

I look around the circle at everyone still standing, still close, still protecting each other without needing a plan.

I was right about one thing.

Something did go wrong.

But for the first time in my life—

it didn't spiral.

It didn't break us.

Jet came for reactions.

And we didn't give him a single one he could use.

The second Jet and his shadows disappear for real, the questions come out.

Not all at once. Not yelling. Just... confused. Uneasy.

I'm the one who finally says it.

"Why does he keep coming here?" I ask, staring into the fire like it might explain something. "Like—what is his deal? Who is he even?"

No one answers right away.

That silence feels heavier than the confrontation did.

Zuma exhales slowly. "He's not here for us," he says. "Not really."

Skye frowns. "Then why show up at our campsite in the middle of nowhere?"

"Control," Tracker says simply.

Everyone looks at him.

"He doesn't want a fight," Tracker continues. "He wants proof. That he still matters. That he can still get inside people's heads."

Ella nods slowly. "He picks moments that are supposed to feel safe."

That lands hard.

"School," Sweetie adds. "The café. Now here."

"Places where we let our guard down," Chase finishes.

I feel something cold settle in my chest. "So he's just... a parasite?"

"More like," Roxy says carefully, "someone who only exists when he's provoking someone else."

Liberty's been quiet, one hand still resting on Tuck's arm like she hasn't forgotten how close that got. When she speaks, her voice is steady—but there's anger under it.

"He hates that Tuck didn't break," she says. "And he hates that we didn't either."

I glance at Tuck. He's pale, but he's still here. Still sitting upright. Still breathing.

"He wants reactions because that's all he has," I say slowly, piecing it together out loud. "If we're calm, if we don't give him anything... then what is he?"

"No one," Everest says softly.

The fire crackles, filling the space after that.

Rubble shakes his head. "That's... honestly kind of sad."

"Yeah," Skye says. "But also not our problem."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "So the answer is... he keeps coming because we keep living?"

Tracker nods. "And because every time he doesn't get what he wants, it costs him more to try again."

I look around the circle—everyone still close, still grounded, still choosing each other.

"So," I say, trying to steady my voice, "next time he shows up?"

Chase meets my eyes. "Same thing."

"No reaction," Liberty says.

"Boundaries," Ella adds.

"And we don't let him rewrite the night," Skye finishes.

I nod, feeling something shift—not fear disappearing, but shrinking.

Jet showed up to remind us he exists.

Instead, he reminded me of something else.

He only has power if we hand it to him.

And sitting there by the fire, surrounded by people who didn't run, didn't fracture, didn't leave anyone behind—

I finally understand something.

He keeps coming back because he's stuck.

We aren't.

And that makes all the difference.