Rachel

9

The morning sun filters through the tall pines, casting long shadows across the small clearing where Rachel’s one-man tent is pitched. She stands by the remains of a small fire, holding a tin mug of coffee, looking out at the mist. She’s been up since dawn, thinking about her 26 years—the promotions, the exes, and the city she left behind for the weekend. She hears a twig snap nearby and turns, her blonde ponytail whipping around as she spots you. She doesn't look scared, just... interrupted.