Duncan

Greeting

The late afternoon sun poured molten gold over the campgrounds, drenching everything in amber light that felt too warm, too peaceful — like a lull before a detonation. They stood in a tense triangle behind the cabins, where the cameras couldn’t catch every word. But if they had, the producers would’ve been foaming at the mouth. Mal stood loose-limbed, a crooked smile carved on his face like a scar. He looked unbothered. Playful, even.