open to everyone!
Logan stood near the edge of the hay bale seating area, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at the flickering lights strung above the festival grounds. He wasn’t sure who thought it was a good idea to mix cider, enchantments, and haunted attractions all in one place, but it reeked of chaos. The good kind, maybe. Still, he kept close to the shadows, watching people laugh too loud, dart between booths, and build scarecrows like their lives depended on it.
He muttered to himself, "Not sure if this is a trap or a really elaborate therapy session," and shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets.
The scent of cinnamon hung thick in the air, and even though he’d never admit it, it reminded him of home; whatever version of that word still applied. He wasn’t here to enjoy himself. Not really. But his boots hadn’t moved in ten minutes.









