Marcus’s POV
The campsite was quiet now, the faint crackle of the dying bonfire the only sound breaking the stillness of the night. I walked through the rows of tents, my flashlight sweeping across the ground to avoid stepping on any stray gear. In my hand was a bag of ice, already starting to drip from the humidity.
When I reached Stacey’s tent, I paused, hesitating for just a second before pulling back the flap.
She was sitting cross-legged inside, her head resting against the pole, her face half-shadowed by the dim lantern hanging above. Her eyes flicked up at the sound of me entering, narrowing immediately.
“What do you want?” she snapped, her tone sharp enough to cut.
I held up the bag of ice. “You looked like you could use this.”
She didn’t answer, just watched as I crouched down and set the bag beside her. She glanced at it like it might bite her before finally picking it up and pressing it against her swollen wrist.
“What are you even doing here?” she muttered, her voice quieter now.
“I told the camp master you were injured,” I said, leaning back on my hands. “That’s why we didn’t finish the scavenger hunt.”
Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. “You what?”
“You’re welcome,” I said dryly.
“Marcus,” she hissed, her face flushing. “You can’t just—”
“Relax,” I interrupted. “It was either that or we both fail this activity, and you know what that means.”
Her shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of her as she pressed the ice harder against her wrist. “It means we don’t pass the camp, and we don’t get to come back next semester.”
“Exactly,” I said, nodding. “So, you’re welcome.”
She was quiet for a moment, her gaze fixed on the ice in her hand. Then she sighed, the sound heavy and tired.
“You don’t have to cover for me, you know,” she said, her voice softer now.
“Maybe I wanted to,” I said, watching her carefully.
Her eyes flicked to mine, searching, like she was trying to figure out what my angle was. But I didn’t have one—not tonight.
“Why?” she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Because you’re clearly going through something,” I said, shrugging. “And whatever it is, it’s not just about the scavenger hunt.”
Her jaw tightened, and for a second, I thought she might snap at me again. But instead, she sighed, her shoulders slumping as she leaned back against the pole.
“Monica,” she said, her voice bitter. “That slut.”