The sound of cicadas carried across the late summer air, blending with the crack of a baseball bat against aluminum. The small-town ballpark was lit up by the sun beginning to set, painting the sky in streaks of gold and pink. Ethan Cole leaned against the chain-link fence, glove hanging loosely from his hand, sweat dripping down his temple.
"Strike two!" the umpire called.
From the bleachers, a small crowd of family and friends cheered. Life was simple here, ordinary.
"Hey, Cole!" Marcus shouted from the outfield, grinning ear to ear. "You're supposed to catch those, man, not stare off at the sky like it owes you money!"
Ethan smirked. "Relax, hotshot. Just keep your eye on the ball."
Maya Torres, sitting cross-legged on the bench, snapped her gum. "If you two spent half as much time playing as you do talking, maybe we'd actually win a game this season."
Everyone laughed. For a moment, it felt like nothing could touch them—like the world outside their little town didn't exist.
Behind the bleachers, Logan Cole leaned against his truck, arms crossed, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. At twenty, he looked older than he should—short-cropped hair, broad shoulders, a scar cutting across his jaw. His eyes were sharp, scanning, always watching. He didn't cheer like the others, didn't laugh. But when Ethan glanced his way, Logan gave the smallest nod, the kind that meant, I'm here. I've got you.
The game ended with more jeers than cheers, but it didn't matter. The team piled into the parking lot, joking, shoving, already planning the late-night bonfire down by the river.
"You coming, Logan?" Dylan asked, tossing a football into the air. "We need someone responsible in case Ethan trips over his own shoelaces."
Logan smirked faintly, flicking the cigarette away. "I'll drive. But don't expect me to babysit when you idiots get drunk."
Cassie Hall walked behind the group, sketchbook hugged to her chest, quiet as usual. She only smiled when Ethan fell in step beside her.
The night carried on with the smell of smoke, the crackle of firewood, and the sound of music from someone's portable speaker. The group sat in a circle by the river, stars sharp above them, the air buzzing with youth and possibility.
"Think about it," Marcus said, staring into the fire. "In a year, we'll all be scattered. College, jobs, whatever. This might be one of the last times we're all together like this."
"Don't start getting sentimental on us," Maya teased. "We'll make it work. Even if I have to drag you idiots back every summer."
Ethan smiled, but something about Marcus's words stuck with him. The thought of things changing, of people leaving, of life moving on. He didn't like it. He wanted to freeze this moment, hold it forever.
But Logan, sitting a little apart from the group, looked at the fire with a different expression. Haunted. Like he already knew change wasn't coming—it was already here, and worse than anyone could imagine.
In the distance, far beyond the treeline, faint sirens wailed in the night. Nobody noticed.
Not yet.