Page 20

JASON

T orack clears his throat, and the entire mess hall falls into a half-hearted hush. It’s not fear—it’s just respect. Or obligation. Or maybe shared trauma from last year’s pixie infestation. Either way, the man’s got a presence.

He plants himself in front of the whiteboard with a stack of papers that looks like it’s about to crumble under its own bureaucratic weight.

“Alright,” he begins, voice like gravel and thunder. “We’ve got five days until camp’s out, and a hell of a lot to wrap up.”

I sigh and lean back in my chair.

My seat creaks. I creak.

Julie’s already got a color-coded checklist in front of her and a clipboard that may or may not be sentient. Aisla’s perched like a gargoyle two seats away, stone-faced and judging. Zak’s chewing a pen cap like he’s solving world hunger. Hazel is here for some reason even though she’s twelve .

And across the circle of misery—Alice.

She’s sitting with her ankles crossed neatly, hair pinned up in a way that makes the nape of her neck look dangerous, pencil in hand like this is her final exam.

God help me.

She looks up, catches me staring.

Smiles.

Not a big one. Just the kind that softens the air around her. The kind I feel in my ribs.

And just like that, I could sit through this meeting for eternity.

Bring on the spreadsheets. The composting policies. The sacred rites of toilet duty rotation.

I don’t care.

Just keep her looking at me like that.

Torack drones on about check-out procedures, magical item returns, enchanted bunk deactivation.

My brain checks out. I doodle on the corner of my notes: a tiny wolf wearing sunglasses, holding a sign that says “Send Help.”

Julie catches me. Raises an eyebrow.

I grin and draw a second wolf with a tiny clipboard labeled Admin Beast.

Alice coughs softly behind her notepad—covering a laugh. Her eyes find mine again, a spark dancing in the edges.

Totally worth it.

“Jason,” Torack barks.

I jolt. “Sir?”

“You’re on firewood prep for the final bonfire.”

I salute with my pen. “Permission to use axes responsibly.”

“Denied.”

Laughter ripples around the room.

He moves on, thank the gods.

Alice mouths, “Axes, really?” at me.

I shrug, smug. She rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling.

Minutes tick by. Julie’s discussing the camper awards ceremony now, and I vaguely register someone bringing up the talent show finale—Hazel volunteers to emcee, obviously.

Meanwhile, I’m watching Alice tuck a loose curl behind her ear, totally unaware of the chaos she’s causing in my chest.

The room is warm, buzzing with low chatter and crinkling papers, but all I can focus on is how settled I feel.

Not bored.

Not restless.

Just… good.

Because she’s here.

And she’s looking at me like maybe I’m home.

Torack pauses, flipping to the last page on his clipboard. His eyes scan the room, one heavy brow raised.

“I’ve got one more announcement.”

The mess hall quiets instantly.

He clears his throat. “I want to take a moment to recognize one of our own—someone who went above and beyond this week when things got dangerous.”

I sit up straighter, suddenly alert.

“Mira’s safe return,” he says, voice booming but warm, “wasn’t luck or timing. It was instinct, sacrifice, and someone who knew exactly what this camp needed in the moment.”

My heart thumps once— hard.

Torack looks straight at me. “Jason Reed.”

Every eye turns to me.

I blink. “Wait, what?”

Julie claps first. Then Zak. Then the whole room’s applauding, the noise rolling through the mess hall like thunder.

I sit there, stunned, like my brain short-circuited.

Torack continues. “This place isn’t just about marshmallows and monster dodgeball. It’s about trust. And when a camper was missing, scared, and vulnerable, Jason followed his instincts— all of them.”

He glances toward the staff table. “He shifted. He tracked her. And he brought her back.”

My cheeks flush with heat.

He’s not just praising me —he’s praising the wolf.

Torack adds, “What he did reminded me why we trust our people to be who they are, not who we expect them to be.”

I swallow.

My throat’s tight.

Across the table, I catch Alice’s eyes.

She’s beaming.

And I let myself feel it.

Pride.

Not shame. Not the fear of losing control or not being human enough.

Just… proud.

I glance over at Aisla.

She’s clapping, sure—but her face is tight, jaw clenched, like she just bit into something sour and can’t spit it out.

I meet her eyes.

Hold her gaze.

And this time, she looks away first.

I lean back in my chair, arms crossed, trying not to grin like an idiot.

Because for once, I didn’t have to fight to prove I belong here.

The whole damn room already knows it.

The meeting breaks up in a slow, scraping shuffle of folding chairs and half-finished checklists. I hang back, pretending to still be fascinated by the coffee urn while everyone files out.

Alice doesn’t leave.

She circles around and catches my eye near the snack table, the edge of a smile playing at her lips.

“Hey,” she says quietly.

“Hey.” I rub the back of my neck. “That was... unexpected.”

“You deserve it.”

I shrug. “Still. Kinda surreal to hear Torack say ‘Jason’ and ‘good decision’ in the same sentence.”

She steps closer, voice gentler now. “This camp cares about you, Jason. You’ve done more for these kids than most people even notice.”

I glance at the door, then back at her. “I didn’t think anyone saw it.”

“We did. I did.”

She nudges her shoulder against mine. My breath catches.

I let the silence stretch between us, warm and steady.

Then I say it.

“I think I’ve got a future here.”

Alice turns toward me, brows lifting just slightly. “You mean that?”

I nod, slower this time. “Yeah. I mean it. For once, I don’t feel like I have to claw my way into a place I already love.”

Her eyes shimmer a little. She reaches for my hand, threads our fingers together.

“I’m glad,” she whispers.

I squeeze her hand once, then smile.

“Me too.”