Page 6

JASON

I haven’t built anything this rickety since my older brother dared me to turn a trampoline into a treehouse.

But damn if this doesn’t feel better.

The logs are uneven. The rope bridge we strung up last night between the pine trunks sags a little in the middle. And the final “challenge”—a wheelbarrow race through the mud pit—is held together by nothing but duct tape, questionable knots, and my overwhelming confidence.

Still. It looks good.

Real good.

“Alright, chaos gremlins,” I shout, hands on hips. “Gather ‘round! It’s Team Challenge Day, baby!”

Group C gathers at the edge of the woods. They’re hyped. I made sure of that. Told ‘em they were in for the most epic obstacle course this camp’s ever seen—and yes, I used the word epic . These kids eat that stuff up like it's cereal.

Nolan’s standing next to me, all nerves and wide eyes. He’s got a little clipboard Alice let him borrow—only his has doodles of fireballs in the margins and a sticky note that says “Commander Nolan.”

He looks up at me. “Are you sure this is gonna work?”

“Not just sure,” I say, leaning down with a grin. “I’d bet my next steak on it.”

Nolan blinks. “You eat steaks?”

“Like most people eat air.”

He grins.

I clap a hand on his shoulder. “You run this. You tell ‘em how it’s done. You’re the boss.”

Nolan bites his lip. “What if they laugh?”

“They won’t.”

“And if they do?”

I grin. “Then you make ‘em eat their words—with extra glitter glue.”

That gets a full-on snort from him.

The kids line up. Nolan steps forward, clipboard shaking a little in his hands.

“Um,” he says, voice wobbly at first. “Welcome to the first annual... Dragon Gauntlet. You have to finish as a team. If you don’t help each other, you lose. There’s no winner unless you all make it to the end.”

Some of the kids groan. “Lame!” one of the older ones mutters.

“Shush,” another says. “This is cool.”

I grin.

Nolan takes a deep breath. “First challenge—get over the log wall without touching the red tape. If you touch the tape, you start over.”

And they’re off.

At first, it’s a mess.

A beautiful, chaotic mess.

Tommy the tiefling tries to vault the wall solo and falls flat on his butt. Nolan winces, but doesn’t flinch. He calls out, “You need to use the stump for a boost. You can’t do it alone!”

Tommy scowls, then grudgingly accepts help from a younger goblin kid with three arms.

The second challenge is the rope tunnel. I made it from old camping netting and probably too much enthusiasm. One girl gets her antlers stuck. Nolan’s already crawling in after her, gently showing her how to twist sideways to make it through.

“Nice work, Commander,” I call from the sidelines.

He beams.

We move through the gauntlet like that—kids scrambling, cheering, occasionally screaming in harmless panic. Every time something goes sideways, Nolan’s the first to step in. Calm. Focused. It’s like someone flipped a switch inside him overnight.

I stand there watching him boss around a twelve-year-old troll and my chest does this weird thing.

It gets... tight.

Not in a bad way. Not like panic. More like... pride?

Shit.

Is this what it feels like to be useful?

The last challenge is the mud pit. Classic.

I rigged it with a few surprise geysers from the camp’s busted irrigation system. It’s basically a trap waiting to happen.

“Okay!” Nolan calls. “Everyone has to make it across in a wheelbarrow pair! You step in the mud, you have to start the whole challenge over!”

Chaos ensues.

Feet slip. Elbows flail. Someone screams dramatically when they land face-first.

Nolan watches it all with this intense, laser focus. He’s tracking every move, calling out instructions like a general in battle.

And then one of the kids—Marcus, the goblin with a big mouth and no filter—gets stuck.

“I can’t do it!” Marcus yells. “This is stupid! Nolan made it too hard!”

And just like that, the energy shifts.

Nolan freezes. Stares at the ground.

I step forward—but before I can say anything, he looks up.

“No it’s not,” he says, voice strong. “You’re just not listening.”

Suddenly, it happens.

It starts as a flicker behind his eyes. Then his skin shimmers like a mirage. His shoulders roll back, spine straightening. The air around him hums.

I smell it before I see it—embers and something sharp, like ozone.

Nolan lets out a breath—and then he shifts.

Right there. On the edge of the pit.

Not full dragon, but enough. Scales shimmer down his arms. His eyes glow gold. A tail flicks out behind him. Tiny wings unfurl just a little.

The kids gasp.

So do I.

Nolan blinks, shocked—but not scared. He looks down at himself, stunned.

Then grins.

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “I did it.”

The other kids cheer. Even Marcus.

I walk over, crouch in front of him. “How’s it feel, champ?”

Nolan laughs—sharp and joyful. “Like flying and fire and candy all at once.”

“That’s the most dragon-ass answer I’ve ever heard,” I say, ruffling his hair. “You crushed it.”

His smile could power the whole damn camp.

Later, after the kids head to the showers and the adrenaline settles, I’m sitting on the cabin steps with a root beer and a weird ache in my chest.

Alice joins me.

She doesn’t say anything. Just sits beside me, our shoulders barely touching.

“I heard,” she says finally.

I glance over.

“He shifted,” I say. “It was... wild.”

She smiles. “I’m proud of him.”

I nod. “Me too.”

She looks at me for a long moment. “You’re good at this.”

“At root beer?”

“At mentoring.”

I shrug. “He just needed someone who didn’t talk down to him.”

She nudges me gently. “You’re better than you think, Jason.”

I stare out at the trees.

The ache in my chest spreads, but this time it’s warm.

Maybe this camp’s doing more than keepin’ me busy.

Maybe I found something here.

Hell... maybe I found me.