LENA
The scent of grilled meat and spiced cider filled the clearing behind the main lodge, curling around the bonfire smoke and the crisp bite of mountain air. Fairy lights crisscrossed overhead, strung between trees like our own little canopy of stars. Someone had dragged the big speakers outside, and music pulsed low and steady beneath the laughter, the voices, the life happening around me.
I stood just at the edge of it all, the warmth of the fire brushing my face, a paper plate balanced in my hand. Evan and Lucas were in full argument mode over the cornhole boards, drawing a crowd with their dramatic bickering. Sienna was lounging nearby on a hay bale, drink in one hand, smirking like the chaos was her doing—and let's be real, it probably was. Cora darted past with a tray of cupcakes, and someone had even baked a loaf of my honey bread. It was sliced and set beside the venison stew like some kind of quiet tribute. The whole thing was chaotic, loud, a little messy.
