I run my hands through my hair, slick it back, blink the water from my lashes?—
And freeze.
My backpack is gone.
My heart slams against my ribs.
I scan the riverbank, panic rising. Maybe I left it somewhere else? Maybe I’m disoriented?
But no. It’s gone. The spot where I left it is empty. My pulse spikes.
Shit.
Someone must have taken it. But how? Who could’ve snuck in and out while I was swimming?
"Hello?" I call out, voice bouncing off the rocks.
Nothing.
I glance toward the rock where I left my clothes—also empty.
Okay. Now I’m really screwed.
My breath catches. I part my lips to shout again—but stop myself.
If someone stole my stuff, they might still be here. Watching. I don’t want to draw them in. If they’re bold enough to rob me, what else would they do?
I drift downstream, keeping low, letting the river cover me. I scan the trees. My mind races. Is this a prank? A creeper tryingto scare me? Or worse—someone trying to snap photos of me naked for clicks?
My stomach flips.
And then—I spot movement on the trail above.
A man.
Relief blooms in my chest—until I reallylookat him.
He’s dressed like a Civil War reenactor. Long, dark hair tied back with leather. A beat-up shirt. A rifle slung across his back. A heavy wool coat, despite the heat.
He stares at me. Unmoving. Expression unreadable.
"Well?" I yell, arms crossed over my chest. "Are you going to just stand there or help me?"
His voice is slow, wary. "Why should I be in a hurry to do that, ma’am?"
Ma’am?
I let out a sharp breath. "I don’t know what kind of roleplay this is, but you can drop the old-timey speech. I promise I won’t break character."
He narrows his eyes. "And what exactly am I meant to be reenacting?"
Okay. So maybe he’s not just a cosplayer. Maybe he’s crazy. But he doesn’tseemdangerous.
"I don’t care—just give me your damn jacket and help me out of here!" I snap. "Someone stole my stuff. I need to get back to my van?—"
"Slow down, woman," he says, lifting one brow. "Your what?"
I blink. "I’ll explain when I’mnot naked!"