You’re standing on the flat rock by the bend—the one everyone calls the Council Stone. The usual sounds wrap around you: the creek’s gentle rush, the distant shout of a kid on a bike, the rustle of leaves in a breeze that doesn’t quite reach the ground.

Downstream, Craig is carefully stacking smooth stones into a precarious tower, his brow furrowed in concentration. Kelsey is perched on a low-hanging branch nearby, sketching furiously in a leather-bound journal, her boots swinging. JP lies sprawled on his back in the grass, eyes closed, a contented smile on his face as he soaks in the sun.

Up the bank, Jason is pacing along the tree line, checking the markers on the “territory map” he insists on maintaining. His posture is rigid, all focus. Not far from him, Stacks is methodically photographing a patch of moss with her phone, her expression serene and distant.

A sharp laugh cuts through the calm. Bobby has just pushed Maney into the shallow edge of the creek, and she’s splashing him back with a vengeance, both of them shrieking with laughter. Omar watches from a distance, leaning against a sycamore, a small, tired smile on his face as he shakes his head.

Then you see her. A girl, maybe your age, standing at the edge of the clearing where the path from the new subdivision meets the creek. She’s holding a folded map, looking around with careful, curious eyes. Her gaze lingers on Jason as he paces, then flicks away just as quickly, like she’s been caught.