Port Angeles held too many reminders.
Forests.
Rain.
Smoke.
News vans.
The endless questions of strangers.
They moved out of state.
Martha hoped distance would heal everything.
It did not.
There are wounds geography cannot close.
Samantha still sometimes slept on the floor.
Even when she had a bed.
Even when every rational part of her knew nobody was coming.
Sometimes she would wake beneath the bed without remembering crawling there.
Metallic clicks made her freeze.
Campfire smoke could send her heart racing.
For years, she wore long sleeves over the spiral brand.
Then one summer she stopped hiding it.
Not because she liked it.
Because she was tired of giving Garrett Stone ownership over whether it could be seen.
Henry struggled differently.
Damp leather terrified him.
So did electrical buzzing.
For months, he could not stand behind Samantha because being positioned between her and an exit reminded them both of the camp.
He apologized compulsively.
For failing to protect her.
For obeying Stone.
For blocking her escape when ordered.
For surviving.
Samantha eventually told him:
