Kai woke before the alarm, the cabin still wrapped in pre-dawn dark. The cold had crept in overnight; his breath hung in faint clouds as he swung his legs out of bed. For a moment he lay there listening to the wind rattling the loose pane in his window, the unfamiliar creak of old wood settling. Then the memory hit him—not a dream this time, but the sharp, sudden kind that always came without warning.
His mom's laugh echoing down the hallway of their old apartment. The way she'd hum old R&B while stirring collard greens, her apron tied tight around her waist. The hospital room smell that clung to everything afterward. He squeezed his eyes shut until the ache dulled to its usual background throb, then pushed himself up.
By the time he stepped outside, the sky was turning slate-gray. Marcus had already marked out a clearing behind the cabin—twenty yards of packed dirt ringed by pines. A single floodlight on a pole cast harsh white over the space. His dad stood in the center in sweats and boots, shadowboxing slow and precise.
"Morning," Marcus said without turning. "Forms first. Then pads."
Kai nodded, dropping his hoodie on a stump. The cold bit at his skin as he joined his dad. They started with Wing Chun—sil lum tao, hands moving through center-line blocks and chain punches, breath syncing with motion. Then boxing footwork, circling an imaginary opponent. Finally Muay Thai rounds on the heavy bag Marcus had hung from a thick branch: teeps, round kicks, knees in the clinch. The impacts echoed through the trees like gunshots.
An hour later Kai was dripping sweat despite the frost, lungs burning in the thin air. Marcus tossed him a towel.
"Good," was all he said, but it was enough.
They ate breakfast in silence—oatmeal and black coffee—then Kai showered and dressed for school. Dark jeans, gray thermal shirt, the same denim jacket. He caught the bus with minutes to spare.
The day passed in a blur of new routines. In English, Lila wore a soft lavender cardigan over a white blouse and a knee-length charcoal skirt, the sweater's buttons undone just enough to show the gentle curve beneath. She caught him looking twice and smiled down at her notebook both times, cheeks warming.
Gym brought Sierra in black running leggings and a cropped green hoodie that left a strip of toned midriff bare when she stretched. She spiked the volleyball straight at him again—playful challenge in her green eyes—and when he dug it up cleanly she gave an approving nod.
At lunch Em slid into the seat beside him this time, wearing an oversized flannel shirt unbuttoned over a black tank top and ripped skinny jeans that hugged her full hips. The flannel slipped off one shoulder as she leaned in to steal a fry from his tray.
"Friday bonfire's still on," she murmured. "You coming?"
"Planning on it."
"Good. Wear something you don't mind smelling like smoke." She popped the fry in her mouth and left with a wink.
The week crawled and flew at once. Kai fell into a rhythm: school, bus ride home, chores around the cabin, training with Marcus, homework by lantern light when the generator acted up. Evenings were quiet except for the wind and the occasional coyote howl. He texted old friends from Chicago when he could steal a bar of signal on the ridge, but replies felt distant.
Friday finally came.
Marcus dropped him at the lake turnoff just after dusk. "Call when you need pickup. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"That leaves a lot open, Dad."
Marcus grunted a laugh and pulled away.
The bonfire was already roaring when Kai walked down the dirt path. Orange light danced across thirty or forty kids scattered in folding chairs and on truck tailgates. Country music thumped from someone's Bluetooth speaker. The air smelled of pine smoke, beer someone had snuck in, and cold water off the lake.
He spotted the girls almost immediately.
Lila sat on a log near the fire, knees together, wearing a cream cable-knit sweater that clung softly to her chest and slim waist, paired with dark jeans tucked into knee-high brown boots. Her auburn hair was loose tonight, waves catching red highlights in the flames. She was sketching in a small pad, but looked up when he approached.
"You made it," she said, voice warm.
"Wouldn't miss it."
Sierra stood by the cooler in cutoff denim shorts over black leggings, a fitted burgundy henley thermal that outlined her athletic frame, sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She handed him a soda without asking.
"Thought you might need something cold first," she said. "Beer's hidden in the blue cooler if you want later."
"Soda's good for now."
Em was the one who really stopped him in his tracks. She'd claimed center stage on a flattened log, acoustic guitar across her lap, fingers picking out a mellow indie-folk tune that quieted conversations around her. She wore a cropped black hoodie unzipped over a lacy red bralette that left her caramel midriff bare, paired with low-rise dark jeans that sat dangerously low on her hips. A silver belly ring glinted whenever she moved. Her wild curls were pulled into a messy high bun with a few tendrils framing her face.
When she finished the song, applause rippled. She looked straight at Kai and grinned.
"This one's for the new guy," she announced, then launched into a cover of "Ho Hey" by The Lumineers—simple, upbeat, voice rich and a little husky.
Half the crowd sang along. Kai found a spot on a log between Lila and Sierra, close enough to feel warmth from the fire and from both girls' shoulders brushing his.
Em finished to cheers, hopped down, and made her way over.
"Verdict?" she asked, dropping beside him so their thighs touched.
"Not bad," he said. "You've got pipes."
"Pipes, huh?" She laughed. "I'll take it."
The night unfolded slow and easy. Someone passed around marshmallows. Stories got told—ghost sightings in the old mill, the year the lake froze solid enough to drive trucks across. Travis and his crew kept their distance, throwing occasional glares but nothing more.
Lila leaned closer to show Kai her sketch: the bonfire from across the flames, faces half-lit, his own profile in the foreground. She'd captured the way the light hit his jaw, the quiet focus in his eyes.
"It's just quick," she said softly. "But you've got good lines."
He studied it, then her. "You see a lot."
"I like seeing," she admitted.
Sierra nudged his other side. "Walk to the dock with me? Need to cool off."
He stood. Em pouted playfully. "Don't keep him too long."
The dock stretched thirty feet into black water, boards creaking under their steps. Moonlight silvered the lake surface. Sierra leaned on the railing, looking out.
"Quiet, huh?" she said.
"Different quiet than the city."
She turned to face him, elbows back on the rail, posture pulling her henley tight. "You miss it?"
"Some parts. Not the noise."
She nodded. "I get that. Grew up on the rez twenty miles west. Came here for school. Still feels like borrowing someone else's land sometimes."
He let his gaze travel—down the long line of her legs in those leggings, the subtle flare of hips. She noticed and didn't move away.
"Still staring," she teased.
"Still worth it."
She laughed quietly. "You're trouble, Kai Thompson."
"Maybe. But the good kind."
They stood in comfortable silence a minute longer before heading back.
Later, when the fire burned low, Em pulled him aside to a cluster of pines away from the light.
"Feedback on the song?" she asked.
"Honest? You made it feel like it was just for me."
Her amber eyes searched his. "Maybe it was."
She stepped closer, close enough he could smell vanilla and smoke in her curls. For a second he thought she might kiss him—lips parted, breath warm—but she just brushed his hand with hers and stepped back.
"Not yet," she whispered, almost to herself. "But soon."
The ride home with Marcus was quiet. Kai stared out the window at passing trees, replaying moments: Lila's sketch, Sierra's laugh, Em's almost-kiss. And something else—rumors whispered around the fire about tracks seen up near the north ridge. Poachers, maybe. Folks losing deer blinds, trail cams smashed.
Marcus broke the silence as they pulled into the driveway.
"Making friends?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Just remember—out here, friends can turn quick if you give 'em reason."
Kai nodded. "I remember."
Inside, he lay awake longer than usual. The cabin felt less empty tonight. His mind kept drifting to three faces in firelight, to the way they'd each looked at him like they were waiting for something only he could give.
He didn't know what tomorrow would bring—school on Monday, more stares from Travis, maybe those poachers getting bolder.
But for the first time since leaving Chicago, Hollow Ridge felt like it might fit.
He closed his eyes, the echo of guitar strings and soft laughter following him into sleep.