At the base of the towering cliff, the cave entrance is barely a scratch on the face of the rock — easy to miss from down here — but I know it’s massive. From a different angle, it was plain as day. It’s taller than it looks.

  Sam double-checks the anchor and carabiners. “You still want to climb?” he asks, noticing me staring at the route. “I’ve got two full sets of spare gear, but you don’t have to go. If you’re embarrassed, I can say something’s missing. Better that than you getting hurt... or being a burden.”

  “The route looks clean.” I clip in, tying a double figure-eight like I’ve done a thousand times.

  Pretty sure this is the thousandth time he’s tried to talk me out of this climb.

  “But really — if you wanna back out, no shame. I’ll say we forgot a rope or something.”

  “Plenty of rope.” I give my belay device a once-over, then check his. “Need more chalk?” His bag looks light.

  “Might not be enough rope,” he offers again, tilting his head, flashing that persuasive grin — one brow raised like he’s giving me an out.

  “There is enough rope.” I pull the rope between us taut, locking eyes with him. Enough with the games.

  “We could pretend there isn’t,” he insists like I haven’t understood his offer yet.

  Oddly, despite his attempts to convince me to back out, it actually makes him seem friendlier than usual.

  “I’m going up.” Narrowing my eyes. “Don’t make up excuses.”

  He shrugs like it’s out of his hands and scans the route. “I tried.”

  It’s getting on my nerves. Sam always thinks he knows everything — that he’s the best, the most reliable. I’m not some nobody like he seems to think.

  “You know what… Have you ever climbed this one before?”

  “Nope, first time,” he says, dusting chalk off his palms. “Why?”

  “Me neither. Doesn’t matter — I’ve got the mileage. I could lead this with one hand.” I glance up, feeling the wind against my face, the sky wide open above.

  “Belayer’s supposed to be heavier,” he says, testing the waters.

  “I know that. And I know you can anchor yourself if needed.” I raise a brow. “I’m not clueless. I train three times a week, and climb outdoors every Sunday.”

  “You’ve convinced me. Go ahead, lead.”

  Waiting for some other comment, I stare at him, but not a shift in that totally nonchalant expression.

  “Huh. I figured you’d argue. You like doing everything alone.” Suspicious.

  “Not at all. Traveling so much taught me one thing — you need people. For the unexpected, or just to trust the right advice.”

  “Right. Trust. Like when you fried the phones?”

  “I trusted that the tourist family wouldn’t post anything. Trusted the guide too.”

  “You bribed and threatened them.”

  “Details.” He turns away with a shrug — but not before I catch that sideways grin, all mischief and secrets.

  A shiver runs up my spine and my hand itches with curiosity, wanting to dig it out of him. But no question comes to mind. My brain goes blank.

  “Want me to lead after all?” he raises an eyebrow, waiting.

  “No.” The route’s already in my head, move by move. I start up. “Your turn to trust me now.”

  “Just remember — I’m your anchor.”

  “Perfect for you, Mr. Cautious. You love control.”

  I dangle for a second, then glance down — can’t help but grin. Five meters up already. His expression says it all: surprise, quickly masked.

  He shakes his head with an amused sigh. “You’re the one who threw a fit after the motorcycle fell.”

  “That doesn’t count. We almost died.”

  Sam gestures for Furioso to stay. “Climbing! And hey — just being alive is a full-time risk.”

  He’s good, I’ll give him that. But he’s not a lifer. His footwork’s careful. Too careful. Weekend warrior vibes.

  “Belay on!” Sam calls up. “One last time: you really want to climb?”

  I roll my eyes. “Why do you want so badly for me not to climb?” I keep going.

  He’s already seen I’m good — so I really don’t get the point of all this.

  “A lot of people push past their limits and get cocky just because it looks like a silly challenge or they want to prove how manly they are.” He pauses. “Wally’s not like that. He’s solid. Doesn’t get rattled by small stuff.”

  “And yet, we’re here ‘cause Ella thinks he’s spiraling.”

  “She told me he’s been low” Sam murmurs.

  “She told you?” …Something that personal? To a total stranger?

  “It’s easier to talk to a stranger, and Ella and Wally had a lot to... get off their chest,” he says, his tone light like he’s talking about the weather. “The route to the cave is super clear, right?”

  “I can see it.”

  Every hold looks like it’s lit up, standing out from the rock face.

  “Wally opened up to you?” That’s rare — he’s not exactly chatty. “You actually talked?”

  “Yeah. You can’t always see depression. But it’s real. I’m not saying that’s exactly what’s eating at him. With Wally, it’s the way people look at him. That’s what gets to him. Not life. Just the way the world sees his life.”

  “Like he’s… less?”

  “Like he’s a failure. A leech. Just dead weight because Ella brings home the money. And there are still people out there who think a man has to be the provider.”

  I appreciate his blunt honesty, but his indifference makes me grit my teeth.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that one too many times… How’s he really holding up?”

  Maybe I should stop using Sam as a walking newswire. But now I need to know.

  “He works, takes care of both of them, finds joy in the little things. But every pitying look wears him down. His mom’s always thinking about how different things would’ve been if he hadn’t gotten injured. Ella’s parents can’t stop bringing up how much more she earns now — even though when they got married, everyone thought he would be the one making a fortune—”

  “Ella doesn’t care about that. It’s not why they’re together.” I cut him off.

  He pauses a moment after securing the rope. “Wally knows that. And it’s not even really what her parents say — it’s how he feels. Like he let everyone down. Even though both of them made the decision for him to quit. She even recommended it — as a doctor.”

  He releases more rope.

  “Wally could’ve pushed through, yeah, but the injury had already happened. It wasn’t gonna heal. It’d just get worse.” I defend them both like I always do when people bring this up.

  “That’s what makes it admirable — not pushing for the finish line, but realizing you’ll drown halfway and choosing to stay afloat instead.”

  “It’s human nature to keep going. You fight so hard, you want to fight ‘til the end, even if you know it’s…” Impossible isn’t the word. “The choice that won’t lead you where you want to go.”

  “Exactly. In the most intense, most tempting moment, he stopped and actually thought about it. A little more fame, a little more money… or the rest of his life with the people he loves. And he chose them. That kind of courage, that kind of self-awareness? Not everyone’s wired for it.”

  Most people see him as the exact opposite — a quitter.

  I never really thought about it like that. But… yeah. It kind of makes sense. I already admired him. I just didn’t realize it might be because of that too.

  “Of course he’s amazing. He’s my best friend, after all.”

  “And every iconic duo needs one walking red flag to keep the dynamic interesting.”

  “Well, if you think he’s so great, I doubt he’d waste his time being friends with someone as terrible as you keep suggesting I am.”

  “Probably just charity. He’s got a generous heart — even made room for his wife’s cousin.”

  “He was my best friend first. Let’s not forget who introduced them.”

  “Oh damn. That defensiveness? Practically an admission. Look, just to be clear — you’re not the center of the damn universe. The only reason I’m even talking to you while hanging off a wall of stone is because he’s your best friend, and I figured you might have something meaningful to say about him. Silly me. Should’ve known better. Talking about you? Snoozefest. I don’t give a damn. Screw you.”

  “Idiot.”

  “Dumbass.”

  The insults echo for a second, then drop like rocks into silence. It stretches between us, awkward and jagged — like the cliff we’re clinging to.

  The climb goes on. Wordless now.

  Every exhale sounds too loud, like our lungs are trying to fill the void we made.

  My fingers throb, my skin burning with every hold.

  The tension climbs with us, heavier than the gear on our backs.

  Then casual. Like nothing happened. I make my voice cut through it. “Right. You were talking about Wally...”

  “Yeah. I mean… there are always other paths. Other dreams. You just have to be open and pay attention to the opportunities. But recognizing them? Choosing them? That alone is already hard enough, but having the clarity to choose the right one? That’s the real challenge…”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Every project — roles, ads, even interviews — I don’t just think twice. I overanalyze until I’m sick of myself.

  “Screw your problems too.”

  Screw you, you rude bastard.

  My fingers clamp onto the rock, muscles buzzing with that snap of pure rage.

  Deep breath.

  Does he want to go low? Fine. I’ll take the high road. Not gonna stoop to his level — or act on the very tempting image of kicking him square in the face right now.

  It’d be so easy.

  Yeah... I’m better than this. Don’t do it.

  The wind shifts — damp, cooler. Smells like wet stone and moss. We’re close.

  “Were you gonna say something else about Wally?” I roll my eyes, focus on the rock face.

  “That’s life, right? Choices… and the mild existential dread when you realize you can’t please everyone. Totally normal. Wally gets that. People call him lazy or unmotivated, but that’s not it.”

  The silence stretches. Tense. Purposeful.

  He doesn’t feed me more rope — just waits. Making me look at him.

  Finally, he says, “What does Ella see in his eyes and call depression? It’s fear. He’s terrified of not being enough. He doesn’t know where to start… but he wants to make them proud. He wants to be their reason to smile.

  I say nothing. He keeps going.

  “And maybe Ella’s right. Cooking might be his thing. He’s good at it. Happy doing it. They’re happy when he does. Maybe that’s the purpose he’s been chasing.”

  “Yeah… maybe it’s time he made some big choices too — and didn’t screw them up.”

  With my feet planted firmly for support, reach up for a final hold — the perfect spot to finish the climb.

  It snaps the second I test it.

  Dust rains down. I glance at Sam. He’s already braced the rope tight but flinches as debris hits his face.

  He coughs, laughing.

  “What were you saying about careful choices again?”

  “At least, as always, I tested it before trusting it with my weight.” I scan for another hold. “Opportunities can lift you up — but make the wrong choice, and you fall.”

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  “Like Johan’s offer versus all the auditions, you’re still waiting to hear back from.”

  I push myself up. The cave mouth is just ahead now, a few meters away — dark and silent.

  “Let me guess... Ella told you about that too.” I set my foot on a narrow ledge, groping around with my free hand until I find the next hold. It’s big but slick. Sweat and chalk mix into a grimy paste.

  I take a deep breath and pull myself up.

  The last few moves rely more on balance than strength. I roll into the cave.

  Every tiny sound echoes in the dark. The smell of old mold hits me — thick, ancient like no one’s been here in decades.

  “Ahh…” I relax for just a second, letting the relief wash over my tense muscles. I clip my carabiner into a double bolt drilled into the ceiling at the cave entrance. Then I double-check the anchor.

  “Safe!” I shout, loud enough to cut through the wind climbing the ridge.

  When he reaches the top, Sam rolls over onto his back and lies still, just breathing.

  The late afternoon sun is three fingers from hiding behind a distant cliff. Below us, a lush forest stretches out. No sounds except ours — and the wind. So different from down there, where there’s leaves crunching, cicadas, footsteps, chatter…

  I drop onto my back, lying on the cold stone of the cave, my whole body humming with adrenaline and the sweet pain of earned exhaustion.

  Funny, really. One wrong hold and that’s it — you’re out. One wrong move and everything collapses.

  Life’s like that too. Sometimes we think we’re taking the easy route… and then it gives way beneath us.

  A cool breeze blows through the cave, a welcome relief in this blazing heat. It echoes off the stone, adding a creepy vibe to the endless dark behind us.

  “Dracula’s not coming out of there. He’s my buddy — he’s in Transylvania. Way too hot for him here.” Sam’s still lying down, completely serious.

  Just when I start to almost believe him — despite how ridiculous it is — he smirks.

  “You are a jerk… lie damn well.”

  “You think I could be an actor? Probably not. I’m not charming, I can’t stand people, and I’m definitely not a narcissist.”

  “Not all actors have... those traits.”

  He sits up, looking out at the view with a small smile.

  “I may not be as ‘gorgeous’ — or whatever the hell the fans call you — but I’ve been underestimated my whole life. Mostly used as decoration at my father’s dinner parties. I mean, what else is a well-dressed child supposed to do at a business dinner? Be a pretty vase?”

  “You said your dad was a diplomat — but didn’t he study medicine?”

  “I also said he never practiced, and that hotels are our main source of income. I didn’t lie. But we were talking about choosing the right projects. Especially something to reinvent yourself.”

  “I know you didn’t lie. A good liar recognizes when someone else is lying — or avoiding something.”

  “Right back at you.” He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

  A buzzing sound grows louder — and as I sit up, a drone floats up in front of me, staring me right in the face.

  “Hey, how are you guys doing?” Zoe’s voice comes out of the drone.

  “That was a good climb,” Sam says.

  “Like you said, I waited until you were done to fly up.”

  “Perfect.” Sam nods proudly at the drone. “You’re getting way better at flying it.”

  “I practiced a bit while you were climbing.”

  “We should’ve used the drone earlier. Could’ve taken some amazing pictures,” Ella says.

  “I didn’t even think about it. I usually just use the drone to scout the terrain, or when Johan asks me to film competitions or something like that.” Sam shrugs.

  “You’re weird. You’ve got a high-end drone with amazing cameras, and you don’t even use it for pictures.”

  “What matters is the memory itself.

  “The more photos you take — and the prettier they are — the better the memory gets,” Ella says.

  “If you like it that much, you can have the drone.”

  “Really?!” The surprise in Zoe’s voice is unmistakable.

  “We can buy a new one when we get back. You’ll earn it for your birthday if you do well in school,” Wally decides.

  “I’ve done a lot of modifications to this one, though — added a speaker, mic, sensors, extended the range. There’s nothing quite like it.”

  “Dad, please let me keep this one. Pretty please?”

  “You only get to keep it if you behave in school.”

  “I promise.”

  “You don’t really need it, right? Since you’ve already made so many changes.” Ella asks.

  “I’ve got two others. I like upgrading them constantly anyway.”

  “Of course you do.” I roll my eyes, checking the ropes.

  “You guys going into the cave? Think the drone can fit?” Zoe asks.

  “Deeper in, it’ll lose signal. But it can follow us a few meters in. Set it to follow mode and turn on the light.”

  “Look, there are hand paintings on the wall,” we hear as soon as the drone lights up the darkness ahead.

  Nearby, there’s a small wooden table with a box on top.

  “Cave paintings,” Sam points out, reading a sign further down the wall.

  I brush the dust off the box and lift the lid. Inside, there’s a notebook. Each page has names, dates, and messages like:

  “Left my fear here in this cave. I’m lighter on the way down.”

  If only it were that simple… But maybe it’s true. Maybe each time we climb, we do leave something behind.

  Zoe’s curiosity hums in the air, the drone’s propellers blowing the cave’s cold air into my face.

  “Uncle, read more.”

  I read a few more messages with similar meanings — then hit one I can’t read.

  “Sam, can you read this? It’s in that language you were speaking earlier, right?” Zoe asks.

  Sam steps closer and looks over my shoulder.

  “If you’re reading this, you’re like us: you’re looking for something higher. But it’s not Chinese. It’s Arabic.” His voice shifts slightly as he reads it aloud. “That’s what it says.” He flips the page and finds English.

  “Go on. Read it,” he says, looking at me.

  “We’re reading the whole thing?”

  “Just a few more, Uncle.”

  “Doesn’t look like many pages were used.” Sam flips through it.

  “This one’s Arabic again,” Zoe says.

  “No, that’s cursive Russian.” His voice shifts once more, now deeper, slower, more thoughtful. “It says: ‘It was terrifying. But I did it. If you’re reading this — you will too.’”

  “Sam, how many languages do you speak?” Ella asks.

  “I understand more than I speak or read. It’s easier for me to follow conversations because I grew up around native speakers. But forming sentences or predicting written tone is trickier for me. Should we check out the end of the cave?” He switches on a flashlight and walks into the darkness.

  Another answer that isn’t really an answer.

  “Your dad was a diplomat, right? You mentioned that earlier. Why didn’t you say so before?” Ella asks.

  “I usually avoid the topic with strangers. It can lead to sensitive questions about my father’s negotiations. Reporters have done that more than once.”

  Now that I know that, the only thing running through my mind is the one question I know I shouldn’t ask: What kind of “sensitive topics”?

  “What’s your dad being a diplomat got to do with you speaking languages?” Zoe saves us all by still being stuck on the previous topic. She doesn’t even know what a diplomat is.

  “It’s because his job made us move around a lot. We lived in different countries, and during my childhood, I picked up different languages just by hearing them all the time.”

  “Just up ahead — the path gets too narrow. Should we head back?”

  “Probably for the best,” I agree.

  “That’s so cool. You lived in lots of countries and you know lots of languages,” Zoe says.

  Sam starts prepping the gear for the descent.

  “I liked being with my dad — traveling, seeing new places. But the whole language thing? I actually hated it for a long time. It made talking to people hard, and that just made me feel isolated. I used to hate the world for not speaking a single language. I hated my dad too because just when I made friends, got used to the place, and people stopped teasing me for my accent — we had to move again.”

  “They bullied you?” Zoe’s voice is full of surprise and outrage.

  “You’re so young and you already know what bullying is?”

  “Everyone knows. These days, you’re supposed to tell your teacher or your parents.”

  “Wasn’t quite like that back then. But it didn’t take long for me to learn to say ‘screw that’ to the whole thing. Honestly, the only ones who mocked my accent were people who’d never had to struggle to learn another language. Just ignorant folks who knew nothing about the world.”

  “You don’t even need to go through the struggle of a second language to get mocked for your accent. Country people get it when they move to the city. I got it when I spoke awkward English in the U.S., or when I came back using some of their slang. But you, even knowing how it feels to be mocked, still made me say that to the Chinese guy.”

  “A harmless prank. I used to love imagining similar-sounding words or causing mix-ups. Once, a businessman got punched by a governor because he thought the guy told his wife she had a nice ass.”

  “Your dad must’ve loved that,” I say.

  “Oh, we laughed so hard about it later.”

  “Great role model.”

  “At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if you accidentally started a war.”

  “Please… no war has ever broken out over a little language misunderstanding. They’re usually cleared up fast. And honestly, it’s a great icebreaker. People laugh at how absurd it sounds.”

  “Interesting strategy,” I say.

  “Zoe, now pull the drone away from the wall so we can descend safely.”

  “Battery’s at 15%. Bringing it back.”

  “Perfect.”

  The buzzing fades, and silence swallows us — only disturbed by our breathing and the sound of metal clinking.

  I do a final check, listening to Sam’s steps getting closer to the edge. The silence sharpens. I turn around — and there he is. Arms spread wide, ready to launch himself into the void.

  My breath catches in my throat. Mind blank, I yank the rope hard, making him fall on his butt.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

  “Admiring the view?”

  “A last look before killing yourself?”

  “I clearly wasn’t gonna jump. The rope was locked in place — I couldn’t even lean forward. You just tested that when you pulled me back.”

  “Then what the hell was that? Trying to give me a heart attack?”

  “Wow, always thinking everything revolves around you. No, idiot, I just like appreciating the view like this.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Try it — it’s nice. Your mind goes blank, just taking in the view, the drop only a step away, the wind brushing your face like it’s inviting you.”

  “No thanks. I’m not suicidal enough to find a free fall appealing.”

  “I’m not that selfish or cowardly to actually kill myself. If I jump, I wreck the lives and minds of a few people — it makes me a selfish jerk. Or a coward for not facing life. Cause if I jump, it ends there. But life… life always finds a way to teach you it can go deeper.”

  “Wow. For someone who says ‘impossible is just an opinion,’ you sound pretty depressed right now.”

  “I’m not. I’m just aware that just like it’s always possible to climb higher and go further, the same applies in the opposite direction. Anyway — are you ready or not?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Going down!”

  The rope creaks, scraping against the rock as his body spins in midair, dangling like a leaf in the wind. I barely make it to the edge in time to see him touch the ground.

  Then it’s my turn.

  And honestly? In that split second when the rope tips and gravity kicks in — everything goes blank. But my senses? They light up. Every sound, every breath, every heartbeat — pure, electric. Like your blood’s been swapped for adrenaline.

  “Feels like hell out here compared to the cave,” Sam grumbles, coiling the rope.

  “Not used to the heat, huh?”

  “I’m used to anywhere. Doesn’t mean I don’t prefer the sweet, steady temperature inside the truck.” He smirks, that usual cocky little challenge on his face.

  Then a drop of blood slides from his nose.

  He wipes it with a finger — leaves a red streak across his cheek. Frowns. Then pinches his nose.

  “Shit —” I rip off my shirt, bunch it up, and hold it out. “Here, tilt your head back.”

  “You lean forward, actually. Pinch and wait,” he mutters. Voice stuffy, accepting the fabric and pressing it against his nose. “Dry air. Not that I’m complaining — if it were more humid, this place would feel like a suffocating sauna.” He shrugs like none of this matters. Bloody nose. Blank face. Completely unfazed.

  Then he glances up at me. And something shifts in his expression — just a flicker — right before a solid kick to my chest knocks me flat on my ass.

  Could’ve blocked it. Wasn’t even that fast.

  But I didn’t see it coming.

  “What the fuck?! Why?!”

  He throws his arms out like I’m the crazy one. “Seriously?” His voice drips sarcasm, eyes flashing. “Jesus. Do you think this is some awkward romantic comedy where you rip your shirt off for any excuse? Think you’re the ridiculous hero in every damn scene? Grow the hell up.”

  He chucks the bloody shirt at my chest, already grabbing his gear, and turns away.

  Not happening.

  I lunge forward, sweep his legs, and bring him down hard. He hits the ground on his hands and knees, growling like he’s about to bite.

  “At the very least, you could thank me, you ungrateful little shit,” I spit the words out with deliberate smugness, wearing superiority-like armor.

  His jaw tightens. That fury’s about to break loose — I see it coming like thunder in the distance.

  But I’m already moving. My body knows what to do. Fast, clean transitions. Muscle memory from a thousand drills.

  I roll with him, lock one arm, drive my knee into his thigh, and clamp him down with the weight of my whole body. One wrist pinned. The other wrapped tight in mine.

  Before he can blink, I’ve got him.

  I wait — not for him to give up, but for the fury. The flash of rage in his eyes, the wild struggle. The fight.

  The way he always keeps everything just below the surface until it bursts out — reckless and volcanic.

  Because this one — the boy in front of me now — still hates the world. Still carries it all inside like a bomb strapped to his ribs.

  He’s the kind of person who says fuck it with his whole body. Every word. Every step. Every breath is defiance. But he never lets it out. Not really. I see it in every glare he throws my way. At me. At the world. That rage, that contempt, simmering just beneath the skin.

  I expect it — the fight, the loss of control, the release. But the fury doesn’t come.

  No flare of violence. No explosion. No scream.

  He moves, sure — but slow. Calculated. Slippery. Like he’s trying to quietly slide out from under the pressure instead of explode through it. He’s not panicking — he’s avoiding.

  Then he just… stops.

  Still beneath me. Breathing steady. Head turned sharply away, refusing to meet my eyes.

  A long pause.

  “Fine. Thank you.” The words grind out from between clenched teeth.

  The second I release him, he’s up — quick, efficient, no wasted movement. Dusts himself off.

  And then that smile — thin, cold, and completely fake — creeps onto his face.

  “Next time you think about doing something for me and expecting gratitude? Don’t bother. I won’t do it again.” He gives me a stiff little nod and turns on his heel, flicking dirt at me with every step like a cat leaving a litter box.

  “God, you’re such an asshole! No one’s ever gonna like you if you keep pushing everyone away! You’re gonna die alone!”

  “Fingers crossed.”

  He doesn’t look back. Just lifts his hand over his shoulder, crosses his fingers... then flips me off. And keeps walking.

  “What happened?” Wally runs over, holding a few sticks. “Did you two fight again?”

  “No… he just suddenly took his shirt off. I thought he was about to perform Spartacus.” Sam shrugs innocently.

  Wally tries to hold back a laugh. “It would’ve looked better from higher up.”

  “Maybe next time.” Sam tilts his head, flashing that mischievous grin like he’s actually considering it.

  “Wally, don’t say things like that — I have no idea how far he’ll take it.” I scoff, but I can’t help smiling at how fast Sam ran with that comparison.

  “What are the sticks for?” Sam asks.

  “Aren’t we doing a campfire tonight? Zoe’s all excited — she wants s’mores, ghost stories, the whole sleepover-in-the-woods vibe.”

  “The air’s too hot and dry. Probably best to skip the fire.” Sam gestures toward his truck. “The new one has a retractable glass roof in the lounge area. The table slides out to the side, so we’ll have plenty of space. More comfortable, and we’ll still see the stars. We can eat, tell stories, everything — just safer. What do you think?”

  “Fine by me. But you tell her.” Wally drops the sticks.

  “Did you already start the fire?”

  “No, why?”

  “You haven’t?!” Sam suddenly tenses and sniffs the air. “Furious!”

  The dog bursts out of a hidden compartment in the truck and bolts toward us.

  “Zoe just burned a couple cookies,” Wally says quickly, trying to calm him down.

  Sam narrows his eyes, studying the dog, who sits right in front of him. The moment he sees Sam’s serious expression, Furious starts sniffing the air too, fully alert. “Still… I’d rather stay in the truck tonight. No camping.”

  “If there was a fire, what would the truck do? Double as a firebreak?” I say.

  If it were that dangerous, we wouldn’t even be allowed here. So what’s he freaking out about?

  “The heat would get intense if a forest like this went up. But we’d be ready to move, and we’ve got countermeasures built in,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “But hey, if you want to sleep outside, go for it. Just don’t start a fire anywhere near us.”

  “Screw you.” I kick the back of his knee — he nearly drops but catches himself just in time and glares at me like he’s ready to kill. He aims a kick at my ass, but I dodge.

  “Too slow.”

  Each time he tries again, I can see the fury building, his face turning red like he’s about to blow. I swear I can almost see smoke coming out of his ears.

  And honestly? I’m really enjoying this.