I held Milo's trembling hand as we walked back to our camper. His small fingers clutched mine with surprising strength, like he was afraid I'd disappear if he loosened his grip. His face remained ghostly pale, eyes wide and haunted by whatever he'd seen inside the elderly couple's RV.
"It's okay, buddy," I whispered, though the words felt hollow. "We're almost back."
Milo didn't respond. He just kept walking, mechanical steps beside me, his breathing shallow and quick.
When we reached our camper, the other children rushed toward us. Lena's face was pinched with worry as she bombarded us with questions.
"What happened? Why did Milo scream? Are there bad people?"
I raised my free hand to quiet her. "Everything's fine. Milo just got scared."
"But what did he see?" Lena persisted, her eyes darting between us.
I guided Milo to sit on the small couch. "Not now, Lena. Give him some space."
