I stopped walking and checked my watch. Two a.m.
The laughter came again, clearer this time. Too many people. Someone singing, badly and without fear of consequences. It sounded happy. It also sounded… drunk.
My jaw clenched.
I stood still and listened, telling myself it was probably fine. People came here to let loose. Still, my chest tightened. Water. Alcohol. Darkness. That was not a favorable equation.
I took the path down toward the lake, counting my steps without meaning to. Forty to the bend. Thirty to the clearing.
The voices got louder. Less cheerful.
I moved faster, reaching the lake while the shouting was still enthusiastic.
The neighbor, Mr. Harlan, was mid-lecture, flashlight wagging like punctuation. Exclamation points, mostly. He hadsettled into his favorite theme.People had no shame anymore. Standards were gone. This used to be a quiet place. Etcetera.
“Evening, Mr. Harlan,” I said. “They’re leaving. No need to keep this going.”
He spun on me, ready to escalate, then took me in. Height like mine does a lot of work before you had to say anything else. He muttered, backed up, and kept backing up.
He grumbled under his breath as he walked away, sweeping the beam toward the trees like he was documenting evidence. The light bobbed away with him, his commentary trailing off until the forest swallowed it.
I stayed put until he was gone, then I turned toward the group of women.
I didn’t look at them, instead fixing my attention to the sky. “You ladies aren’t in trouble or anything, but you probably should head back to your rooms. I’m not trying to ruin your evening, just offering my input as someone with a clear head. I can walk you back if you need.”
There was a beat of silence, then a chorus of agreement that sounded relieved and loud all at once. The mood loosened as they climbed out and wrapped themselves in towels and clothes retrieved from a heap. Morning would not be kind to them.
“Let me know when you’re decent,” I said, still studying the stars.
When they told me it was clear, I turned, keeping my eyes level with shoulders and trees and anything that was not their bodies. I held out a small stack of cards that I fished from my pocket.
“Liam,” I said. “I’m the resident grounds worker here at Pine Hollow Retreat. For transparency’s sake, I’m also a shifter. If there’s an emergency, use the number. I can get to you quickly.”
One of them smiled wide. “Does this count as you giving us your number?”
“For emergencies only,” I said, keeping my voice friendly and firm. “Broken bones. Lost people. Fires. Not karaoke requests.”
They laughed, and one of them snapped a sloppy salute. Another one attempted a curtsy and nearly took herself out doing it.
“Very professional,” one of them said.
“I felt respected,” another replied.
We turned back up the trail together, their voices tangling with each other. The tension bled off fast, replaced by the kind of fearless chatter that only showed up when people thought the danger had passed.
Someone tripped and laughed like it was on purpose.
“Do the deer here judge people?” a voice asked from behind me.
“Yes,” I said.
“Makes sense.”
Most of them kept talking. Two didn’t.
One was tall and striking, walking half a step behind the rest. Her blue hair was not subtle. The color caught every bit of light along the trail, making it impossible to miss and harder to ignore than it should have been. The other woman kept pace beside her, steady and watchful. The taller one kept glancing back, then forward again, like she was counting heads without meaning to. I could relate to that.
I could tell her foot was about to give out a split second before it did.
