Caine's acting weird. Too polite, too friendly, too... everything not-Caine. He's smiling—not smirking, actually smiling—at the middle children as they dance around the campfire.
The elderly couple, Archie and Doris (we finally introduced each other by name), poke at the massive fire they've built in their stone-ringed pit. A smoker sits off to the side, ribs already going inside. Apparently they've been going all day.
The smell of them makes my stomach growl, but something about this whole setup just feels… strange.
"This is my brat-dance!" Jer announces, performing some chaotic bounce and wiggle; it looks like he's being electrocuted. Or having a seizure. Or both.
Sara rolls her eyes. "It's called the floss, dummy. And you're doing it wrong." She demonstrates with quick, precise arm movements, though her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "See? Arms straight."
"I'm not a dummy. I just made it better!"
