Gage “Good morning, everyone!” Derek beamed, his voice far too cheerful for the ungodly hour. He looked entirely too well-rested, a fact that only made the rest of us groan internally. The man practically radiated sunshine, while the rest of us were still dragging our limbs around like caffeine-deprived zombies. I mean, what exactly did he expect? Nobody went to bed early last night. Everyone had been buzzing with nervous energy, trying to figure out who they were hut mates with, speculating about activities, sizing each other up. I wasn’t the exception. I’d spent a good portion of the evening listening to random chatter, my body exhausted but my mind too wired to shut down. Still, I knew I could handle the morning run. It wasn’t like I was a stranger to early training. And especially now, after Derek had assigned Caleb and me to monitor the group—to make sure no one lagged too far behind. Babysitters for the day, basically. “This is our first official morning run,” Derek continued, as some campers stretched lazily, others already jogging in place like they were prepping for a damn marathon. “It’s important that you keep your own pace. Don’t feel rushed by others… unless you want to, of course,” he added, tossing a playful wink toward a group of girls who giggled in response. “We do this every single morning,” he said, his tone shifting just enough to grab attention. “Your body will be sore. You will be exhausted. But it’s pushing through those moments—when your brain says stop but your body keeps going—that builds strength. That creates discipline. That turns you into someone better than who you were yesterday.” My eyes scanned the crowd. We were a large group—some already toned and in peak shape, others clearly less prepared for what lay ahead. A few looked like they hadn’t broken into a run since middle school P.E. class. And then I saw her. Bree. She stood near the edge, smiling politely up at Derek as he spoke. Her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, bouncing gently with every subtle movement. She wore a pair of sweats and a soft, faded t-shirt, nothing flashy, nothing calculated. She didn’t exactly look ready to sprint five miles, but she had that look in her eye—quiet determination. Like she wasn’t going to let herself fall behind, no matter how much it hurt. “But don’t worry,” Derek added, grinning wider now. “I’ve got people in the back making sure you push yourself. No lazy strolls. No ducking out early. Give it everything you’ve got—and by the end of the summer, I promise, you’ll wake up wanting to run.” The group let out a mix of laughter and groans. He clapped his hands once, sharp and encouraging. “Alright, follow me! Let’s go!” With that, he spun on his heel and launched into a light jog, already making his way down the dirt trail winding through the woods. One by one, the group followed—some sprinting to catch up, others hanging back, easing into the rhythm. “Chill morning,” Caleb said beside me, rolling his shoulders and letting out a breath. “Should we just start walking?” My eyes tracked Bree as she started moving. She wasn’t sprinting, but she wasn’t slacking either. She kept a cautious pace, something between a jog and a power walk. Her form was a little unsure, her shoulders tight, but she was doing it. Her ponytail bounced in time with her steps, and even from here I could tell she was trying. That alone set her apart from the two guys near the back who were barely moving, walking like they’d been sentenced to death by cardio. “Yeah,” I muttered, stepping off the gravel and onto the trail with Caleb. “You know anything about her?” I asked, nodding my chin toward Bree’s figure ahead of us, still maintaining her careful tempo up a slight incline. “Not much, no,” Caleb admitted, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his joggers like we were on a stroll through the park. “But Rachel cornered me yesterday. Strong-armed me into joining the dance class… the one she’s in too.” My gaze snapped to him. “She joined the dance class?” I asked, feeling something flare deep in my chest. Jealousy. Regret. A mix of both. I hated myself for not signing up just to be near her. “I don’t think it was intentional,” Caleb said, laughing under his breath. “But yeah, we both ended up in it. And Rachel signed me up for her creative writing class too. Honestly, not the worst outcome.” My eyes flicked back to Bree. She was slowing down slightly, adjusting her stride to compensate for the incline. She wasn’t struggling, but she wasn’t exactly breezing through it either. And for a moment, all I could think about was the way she’d smiled yesterday after our game—the pure joy in her expression when she realized she’d made it across the finish line. It was the kind of smile that hit you right in the ribs and lingered longer than it should. “Creative writing?” I echoed, my brow lifting slightly. “Yup,” Caleb replied. “She offered, too. Volunteered for it. Seems like the academic type, but in a cool way. Like… she actually gives a damn.” “She doesn’t shy away from that stuff,” I murmured, half to myself. “Exactly,” he said. “Honestly? I think that’s kinda hot.” His grin widened. “We’re always surrounded by girls like Gabi. Flashy. Polished. But it’s just… boring, man. I don’t care about makeup. I don’t wanna talk about fashion trends or follower counts.” I turned my head toward him, something in my jaw tightening. “You think she’s hot?” I asked, my voice lower than it should’ve been. Because hot didn’t cut it. Bree wasn’t just hot—she was captivating. Gorgeous in the kind of way that snuck up on you and slammed into your chest. She was beautiful. She was radiant. She was… real. And knowing she loved creative writing, I couldn’t imagine she’d appreciate being reduced to just hot. “Yeah,” Caleb said with a casual shrug. “She’s hot. And cute. Like… she doesn’t even realize it.” That, I could agree with. There was something almost painful about the way she seemed unaware of her own allure. The way she carried herself, like she didn’t expect to stand out, like she didn’t know how rare it was to have a genuine, down-to-earth conversation with someone who wasn’t just using you for who you might become. It had been years since I’d actually felt like a girl—a real one, not one painted up or posing for attention—was talking to me because she wanted to, not because she was hoping for a glimpse of my stats or a story about how well the scouts were recommending me. Bree hadn’t once brought it up. Not my team. Not my future. Not what I could offer her. And that… that was rare. “Excuse me,” Caleb said, clearing his throat beside me. His voice made the two guys in front of us turn their heads. They both looked completely confused, like it hadn’t occurred to them that someone might actually call them out. It must’ve looked ridiculous—Caleb and I walking behind them at an easy pace, matching theirs like we didn’t have the muscle to overtake them if we wanted to. Which, clearly, we could. “This is supposed to be a morning run,” Caleb said, his voice calm but direct, every word crystal clear. One of the guys rolled his eyes and stopped completely. “Come on, Sean, let’s go do something else instead,” he muttered to his friend. They veered off the trail without another word, already talking about something online—maybe a game, maybe a new video trend. Whatever it was, it clearly mattered more to them than the workout they’d signed up for. They brushed past us without an ounce of shame, completely abandoning the run. “Alright then,” I muttered, watching them disappear into the trees with a c****d brow. “What rays of sunshine those two were.” Caleb chuckled, shaking his head. “You hit it right on the nail, didn’t you, cap?” I smirked, then gestured for him to follow as we started jogging again, our strides easy, unhurried. We caught up to Bree in no time. She was jogging carefully down a small incline, her eyes fixed on the ground ahead of her, hyper-focused on not losing her footing. She must’ve heard us approaching because her head turned slightly. Her eyes met mine for the briefest second—just long enough to widen in surprise—before she turned away again, laser-focused on the trail. Her breathing was heavy, shallow. Her chest rose and fell quickly, the pace uneven and a little panicked, her body pushing through it anyway. Caleb glanced at me, that damn grin of his sliding across his face before he jogged up to her, trying way too hard to sound casual. “Hey, Bree,” he said, cheerful as ever, like she wasn’t one wrong breath away from collapse. Bree lifted a hand in a polite wave but didn’t say anything. She kept moving forward, fighting through every stride like it physically hurt—and it probably did. “How did you sleep last night?” Caleb asked, and I nearly rolled my eyes out of my skull. Was the guy serious right now? Couldn’t he see she was struggling just to breathe? This wasn’t the time for small talk. This wasn’t the place to try and be charming. He was clearly trying to impress her, but it was painful to watch—like watching someone try to flirt during a fire drill. “I slept great,” Caleb continued when she didn’t answer. “I mean, the mattress could probably be a little softer, but I lived through it. I am a survivor, nonetheless.” Bree finally stopped. Her body bent forward, her hands braced on her knees as she fought to catch her breath. Caleb blinked, confused, clearly not expecting her to stop so suddenly. I stepped in without hesitation, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “You should straighten up instead,” I said softly, my voice lower, more grounded. “It’ll help you breathe easier.” She swallowed between gasps, sweat beading along her hairline, her skin flushed and glistening from the effort. She looked like she’d hit her limit. Like her legs were trembling beneath her. But even in that state, there was something in her eyes—a spark that hadn’t gone out. She wanted to keep going. She wanted to finish. “That’s better,” I said, giving her a small, encouraging smile. “Try closing your eyes. Focus just on your breathing.” She nodded, wordless, and followed my suggestion again. I made sure my breathing was loud and steady so she could match it, something consistent for her to lock onto. In and out. Deep and slow. My eyes drifted to Caleb. His mouth was a tight line now, his brow furrowed. He didn’t like this—me stepping in where he failed. And while he was my teammate, the guy I usually had no problem backing up, this? This moment? I wasn’t giving him a damn inch. “Why don’t you run ahead?” I said, eyes locked on his. “Tell Derek that Bree and I are taking the shortcut. She’ll still finish the run—just needs a shorter trail.” Caleb’s eyes flicked between me and Bree. The tension in his shoulders was obvious, the irritation written all over his face. But he didn’t argue. “Fine,” he muttered, before jogging off, a little faster than necessary—like he needed to burn off the frustration. I turned back to Bree. Her gaze lingered on Caleb’s retreating form for a second before she looked back at me. “Come on,” I said, keeping my tone gentle. “Shortcut’s this way.” “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breathy, her body clearly working overtime. We ran side by side, silent. I kept my breathing steady, loud enough for her to follow, not too fast, not too slow. Just enough to keep her grounded. She didn’t complain. She didn’t quit. She followed through. Every step she took felt earned, like she was fighting for it. And when we reached the finish line—when she crossed it still running, sweat clinging to her skin, her legs trembling—she smiled again. That same damn smile from yesterday. The one that made her eyes sparkle. The one that had no idea just how hard it hit me.