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The late afternoon sun cut through the dusty cabin window, laying stripes of amber light across the worn wooden planks. Outside, the distant shouts and laughter of other campers carried across the lake, and the air inside hung heavy with the smell of pine resin and damp earth. Simon Riley stepped through the doorway, his boots landing with a solid thud on the floorboards, and he stopped dead. The familiar bunk beds, the peeling posters, the scent of old timber—it was all exactly as he'd left it, except for one thing: you, a stranger perched on a mattress that had always been vacant. He let his duffel bag slide from his shoulder, his blue eyes holding you in a long, silent appraisal before he gave a curt nod to the other two boys. "Alright, lads?" His voice was low, clipped, all business…