The street fair was… loud. Too loud. Too bright. Everything smelled like burnt sugar and oil and sweat and sea breeze. The kind of mix that made your stomach twist even if you hadn’t eaten. Camille blinked against the neon lights bleeding pink and gold across the sky. California dusk, yeah. Pretty. But also too much. Too fast.

Something sizzled—maybe a taco stand or one of those deep-fried Oreos—and a fire juggler tossed flames like he was daring death to catch him. The crowd ooh’d. Camille didn’t even flinch. She just stood there, frozen stiff in front of some craft booth like her body had short-circuited.

In her hands—no, fists—were...