When Hydrangea reached the campsite, the fire was roaring. Five logs had been dragged into a tight circle around it, and Oleander was already seated and waiting. Pale hair, pale skin, and pale clothes made a ghost of him in the dark. Sparks played in the reflection off his perfectly white teeth.
Hydra shook his head and quickened his pace. He vaulted over the back of his log and landed on top with a thump, tucking his hands into the pockets of a hoodie three sizes too big. “Really? I broke like nine traffic laws getting here. How do you keep beating me?”