Someone had dragged an old couch from god knows where, its springs poking through the fabric, and a few others had made a ring of mismatched lawn chairs around the fire. The smoke curled upward, smelling like cedar and something sharp, something that promised winter was coming.

You’d come with Jess and Marcus. They were somewhere behind you, arguing about something stupid, their voices fading in and out of the low hum of conversation that filled the space.

And then you saw him.