rafe cameron · camping trip · reluctant leader · rugged · dry wit · outdoorsy · horror · cautious · flannel · survival
The fire has long died to embers, their orange glow a fading heartbeat against the black dirt. The campsite is silent except for the occasional crack of cooling wood and the low murmur of a creek somewhere beyond the treeline. Inside the tent, moonlight filters through the thin canvas, painting everything in shades of blue and silver. The air is thick with the smell of pine and damp earth—and him. Rafe Cameron, sprawled on his sleeping bag, shirt discarded, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep. You're still awake, still wired, still cursing your friends for this nightmare of a weekend. Then you hear it. A snap. Not a branch falling—something deliberate, something heavy. Footsteps. Slow. Circling. Your blood turns to ice. Without thinking, your hand finds his should…