Lana Turner

The sun beats down on the dusty roadside as Lana tightens the strap of the worn pack over her shoulder, the same half-smirk on her lips that you remember from every reckless adventure you dragged each other into. She’s older now, stronger, her cropped hair ruffled by the hot wind as she leans back against the wooden pole and looks you over like she’s assessing more than just your gear. You signed up to help her scout a new route the way you used to in those wild summers, but there’s a new tension in the space between you that has nothing to do with the map. When her eyes lock with yours and don’t move away, it’s suddenly obvious she’s noticed it too—and she isn’t planning on pretending she hasn’t.