The Forest
The camp was still half asleep when I slipped out of the cabin.
Dawn brushed gold against the treetops, the air cool and sharp enough to wake anyone with lungs. Everything smelled like damp pine, lake mist, and the faint smoke from last night's campfire that still clung to the clearing.
Everyone else was probably still drooling on their pillows — or in Owen's case, snoring loud enough to register on seismographs three provinces away.
Me? I had a mission.
I'd been surviving on my carefully hoarded energy bars since arriving, rationing them like they were gold. But supplies were finite, and I wasn't about to start gambling with Chef's cooking. Time to provide for myself properly.
The moment I crossed the treeline, something in my chest loosened.
God, I missed this.
It had been over a month since I'd been in actual wilderness — not since before I woke up in this world. The forest welcomed me back like an old friend: the whisper of wind through pine needles, the soft crunch of needles underfoot, the distant call of a loon across the lake.
I moved quietly through the underbrush, checking the snares I'd set yesterday evening. Two rabbits — clean catches, quick deaths. I murmured a quiet thank you before field dressing them efficiently, the familiar motions settling something deep inside me.
This I know how to do. This makes sense.
The lake's surface shimmered with early light as I set up a makeshift fishing line from spare cord I'd scavenged. While waiting for the first bite, I foraged — berries growing in sun-dappled patches, edible greens near the water's edge, mushrooms that weren't trying to kill me.
It was oddly peaceful.
No yelling. No challenges. No Chris's megaphone shattering the morning. Just the rhythmic lap of water against shore and the whisper of wind through the pines.
My line tugged. I pulled up a decent-sized bass, then another. By the time the sun fully cleared the horizon, I had two fish, the two rabbits, a handful of bird eggs, and enough foraged plants to supplement the meal.
I found a flat patch of ground near the cliffs and built a small fire. The smell that followed — smoky, rich, real food — was better than any luxury meal.
For the first time since arriving on this island, I felt like I was in control of something.
The Discovery
I had just started seasoning the fish with crushed greens when leaves rustled behind me.
Gwen emerged from the trees, arms crossed, expression halfway between exhaustion and irritation. A few seconds later, Cody stumbled after her, tripping over a branch but recovering fast enough to flash what he probably thought was a charming grin.
"Hey, uh, Gwen!" he said, jogging up beside her. "Didn't expect to see you here this early."
"You've been following me since dawn, Cody," she said dryly, brushing past him.
"Technically," he began, "I was, uh, walking in the same general direction. You just... happened to be leading."
"Uh-huh."
Her gaze flicked toward the fire, and I saw the exact moment she registered what I was doing. Her eyebrows rose. "You're cooking?"
"Attempting to," I said, flipping one of the fish with a stick. "Figured I'd take my chances with nature instead of Chef's sludge stew."
Cody inhaled deeply, eyes going wide. "Whoa. That smells amazing! Is that — actual fish?"
"Last I checked, yeah." I gestured to the second fish. "Caught them myself this morning."
Gwen crouched nearby, skeptical but intrigued. "You know how to do that?"
"Survival books. Practice. Trial and error." I shrugged. "Turns out desperation is an excellent teacher."
"That's..." She paused, expression shifting from skeptical to genuinely impressed. "Actually kind of impressive. What else can you do? Build a shelter? Start fires with sticks?"
"I could," I said, "but I don't want to give production ideas. They'd probably turn it into a challenge and make us do it while Chris watches through binoculars and laughs."
That earned a rare smirk from Gwen.
Cody plopped down next to the fire, elbows on knees, trying very hard to look casual while sneaking glances at Gwen. "Can I help? I've seen, like, so many camping videos on YouTube. Educational stuff."
"Sure," I said, handing him a stick. "Start by not setting yourself on fire."
The three of us stayed like that for a while — me tending to the fish, Gwen quietly handing me sticks when the fire needed feeding, Cody "supervising" while trying not to be too obvious about staring at Gwen.
It was calm. Unscripted. Almost human.
Then the smell of cooking spread through the trees, and peace officially died.
The Gathering
Owen appeared first, drawn by the scent like a cartoon character floating toward a pie on a windowsill.
"DUUUUDE," he moaned, stumbling into the clearing with his eyes still half-closed. "I thought I was dreaming, but no! Real food!" He looked at the fire, then at me, then back at the fire with such desperate longing I almost felt bad for him.
Then Leshawna arrived, following the smoke. She took one look at the setup and laughed. "Oh, so we got a camp chef now? Noah out here cooking like he's on some nature show?"
"More like trying not to starve," I said. "But sure, we can call it that."
Bridgette and Geoff were next, hand-in-hand and looking disgustingly cheerful for this hour. "Dude, that smells incredible!" Geoff called out. "Way better than whatever Chef's making!"
"That's not exactly a high bar," Gwen muttered.
More people kept arriving. Trent wandered over with his guitar case. Lindsay appeared looking confused but happy. Even Heather showed up, pretending she'd "just been on a walk" while eyeing the fish like a hawk sizing up prey.
By the time I looked up again, I was surrounded by half the cast, all sitting in a rough circle around the fire, faces expectant and hungry and suddenly very interested in being my friend.
"Well," I said, deadpan, "there goes my breakfast."
"Don't fight it, sugar," Leshawna laughed. "You're the camp chef now."
"I didn't sign up for that."
"Neither did we," Gwen muttered. "Yet here we are, facing Chef's crimes against food every day."
I sighed and pulled out more of my foraged supplies. "Fine. But if anyone complains about portion size, you're hunting next time."
Confessional - Gwen:She's leaning against the confession booth wall, looking thoughtful. "So Noah can apparently cook. Like, actual food — not just roasted marshmallows. He was completely calm about it too, just explaining how to season fish and which plants are edible like it was no big deal." She pauses. "He's got layers. The sarcastic meddler thing is real, but there's more underneath. Competence. Actual skills." She almost smiles. "Makes you wonder what else he's hiding."
The Meal
By the time I was done cooking, there was enough for everyone to at least taste something real. The rabbit got divided into careful portions, the meat tender from slow cooking over coals. The fish was flaky and perfectly seasoned. The foraged greens were passed around. The eggs got cooked in the embers and split between those who wanted them.
The laughter came easy after that.
Owen cracked jokes between bites, dramatically declaring each morsel "the best thing I've ever tasted, bro!" Leshawna teased Duncan for sneaking extra portions when he thought no one was looking. Beth asked earnest questions about which berries were safe, taking mental notes like she was preparing for a pop quiz.
Cody launched into an enthusiastic explanation about "the ideal temperature gradient for open-fire cooking," which earned him several eye-rolls but also genuine curiosity from Beth and Katie when they wandered in late, still rubbing sleep from their eyes.
"Wait, you cooked?" Katie blinked at the fire, then at me, then at the gathered crowd. "Like, real food?"
"Define 'real,'" I said.
"Not Chef's mystery meat."
"Then yes. Real food."
She settled down beside me with a smile, accepting a piece of rabbit wrapped in a broad leaf. "This is amazing. How did you even—"
"Practice. Boredom. Spite."
"Spite is a powerful motivator," she agreed, taking a bite. Her eyes widened. "Oh wow. This is actually really good."
Heather took one tentative bite, paused, and said in genuine disbelief, "Okay... fine. This doesn't taste like despair."
"High praise from the queen of negativity," I said.
She glared, but her mouth twitched upward just slightly.
Progress.
The morning sun climbed higher, turning the clearing golden. Conversations overlapped — Trent strumming quiet chords on his guitar, Owen's booming laugh, Bridgette's gentle teasing of Geoff, Lindsay asking Beth about berry identification with genuine interest.
For a little while, it didn't feel like a competition. It felt like camp. Like people who'd chosen to be here, sharing a meal, enjoying the morning before chaos inevitably returned.
Confessional - Beth:She's smiling warmly. "Noah was teaching us about edible plants this morning! He showed us which berries are safe and how to identify poisonous mushrooms. He was really patient about it too, answering all my questions without making me feel dumb." She pauses, expression thoughtful. "He shares what he knows without showing off. That's rare."
Confessional - Duncan:He's leaning back, arms crossed, trying to look unimpressed but failing. "Look, the guy's a smartass, but credit where it's due — his cooking didn't kill me. I'll take that over Chef's toxic stew any day." He pauses. "If Noah keeps this up, I might actually start respecting him. Might. Don't tell him I said that."
Confessional - Katie:She's smiling warmly, genuinely happy. "Watching everyone gather around the fire this morning, just talking and eating real food... it felt like what camp is supposed to be. And Noah made that happen. He didn't have to. He could've just kept the food for himself. But he shared." Her expression softens. "That's the kind of person he is. He acts like he doesn't care, but he does. You can see it in the things he does."
Chef's Arrival
The peace didn't last.
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF MY KITCHEN IS THIS?!"
Chef Hatchet's voice cut through the clearing like a chainsaw through butter — loud, aggressive, and impossible to ignore. He stormed into view like a thundercloud given human form, spatula in hand, eyes blazing with the fury of a man whose professional pride had been wounded. We all froze mid-bite.
"Y'all skipped my breakfast for some forest barbecue?!"
Owen swallowed guiltily, crumbs still on his face. "Uh... yes?"
Chef's glare swept over the gathered crowd like a searchlight, cataloging each guilty face, before finally locking onto me. "So you think you can out-cook me, smart boy?"
I raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze steadily. "I think I can out-cook your orders, which, based on the evidence, isn't that hard. No offense to your actual skills."
For a long moment, he just stared. The clearing held its breath.
Then — unexpectedly — he huffed a laugh. Short, sharp, but genuine.
"You got guts, kid. And..." He glanced at the remains of the meal, the clean fish bones, the way people had actually finished eating instead of gagging. "Decent seasoning."
He turned, muttering as he walked away. "Chris wants me servin' slop for ratings. Ain't my fault y'all crave vitamins."
The moment he disappeared back toward the mess hall, the clearing exhaled collectively.
"Did Chef just... compliment you?" Cody looked bewildered.
"I think he threatened me and complimented me simultaneously," I said. "Which is probably the closest thing to approval we're getting."
Confessional - Chef:He's standing in the mess hall kitchen, arms crossed, spatula still in hand. "Look, I could make five-star meals blindfolded. I trained under Gordon Ramsay's meaner cousin. But nooo — Chris says the 'mystery meat' keeps viewers guessing. Says suffering builds character and ratings." He scowls, then his expression softens just slightly. "That boy Noah? He's got skill. Respects the food. Doesn't waste. Actually seasons things properly." A pause. "Reminds me of me before this network broke my soul. First day they told me to go real hard-ass on these kids, make 'em fear the kitchen. But watching them actually enjoy food for once?" He looks almost wistful. "Maybe I miss cooking for people instead of at them."
Midday - The Afterglow
After Chef left the group mellowed out around the dying fire. The sun was higher now, warm against skin, turning the lake into hammered silver in the distance.
People started drifting in different directions — some back to cabins to nap, others toward the lake to swim. But a small cluster remained: Harold, Owen, Cody, and Ezekiel approached me like a committee.
"Dude," Cody said, eyes bright with enthusiasm, "we have to do this again tomorrow! I can sneak spices from the mess hall!"
"Yeah!" Owen cheered. "I'll bring the enthusiasm!"
Harold adjusted his glasses, looking serious and earnest. "I can take notes. Document everything. Create a wilderness survival manual!"
Ezekiel smiled sheepishly. "I can help set traps, eh? Did a lot of that back on the farm."
I looked at the four of them, all beaming like overeager puppies who'd just discovered their favorite game.
"Congratulations," I said dryly. "You've formed the most chaotic breakfast club in history."
Confessional - Owen:Still grinning like he's just won the lottery. "We're calling it the Breakfast Club! We're gonna forage and cook and eat real food instead of Chef's science experiments! Noah's teaching us survival stuff! YAHOO!"
Confessional - Cody:He's leaning forward, animated. "Okay so the Breakfast Club is officially the coolest thing happening on this island. We're learning survival skills, cooking real food, and Noah's actually patient when we mess up!" He pauses, smile turning more thoughtful. "Plus it's nice having something to do that isn't about competing or drama. Just guys being guys. Learning cool stuff. Eating good food. Honestly? Best part of being here so far."
Afternoon - Individual Conversations
Later, after the crowd dispersed and the Breakfast Club went off to plan their next adventure, I found myself walking along the lake shore.
The water was calm, reflecting the sky like glass. Dragonflies darted across the surface. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear Owen's laughter — the guy had two volumes: loud and louder.
I was content to be alone with my thoughts when I heard footsteps behind me.
"Mind if I join you?"
Courtney approached, clipboard conspicuously absent for once. She looked... tired. Not physically, but emotionally. Like she'd been holding herself together through sheer force of will and finally had permission to breathe.
"Free country," I said. "Or free island, technically."
She sat down on a nearby log, and for a moment we just existed in comfortable silence. The kind that didn't need filling.
"That was impressive this morning," she said finally. "The cooking, the way you handled everyone."
"I just didn't want to starve."
"You fed half the camp," she pointed out. "That's more than self-preservation. That's generosity."
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. "Had more than I needed. Seemed wasteful not to share."
She nodded, looking out at the water. A bird called somewhere in the trees. The silence stretched again, but it wasn't awkward — more like she was working up to something.
"Can I ask you something?" she said quietly.
"Sure."
She hesitated, fingers tracing patterns on the log. "Do you ever feel like... like you have to be in control all the time? Because if you're not, everything will just..." She made a vague gesture. "Fall apart?"
I considered that. "Sometimes. Depends on the situation. Why?"
"I don't know." She pulled her knees up slightly, arms wrapping around them. "I just... I've always been like that. Organized. Prepared. In control. And people tell me it's too much, that I need to relax, but I can't just..." She trailed off, frustrated with herself.
"Can't let go," I finished for her.
"Yeah." She looked at me, something vulnerable in her expression. "It sounds stupid when I say it out loud."
"It's not stupid. Everyone has their reasons for being how they are."
She was quiet for a long moment, staring at the water. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "My parents split up when I was nine."
I didn't say anything, just waited.
"It was... messy. Really messy. They fought about everything. Who was right, who was wrong, who got what." Her jaw tightened. "The whole house felt like it was coming apart, and nobody was doing anything to stop it. Everyone was just yelling and blaming and falling apart."
"So you decided someone had to hold things together," I said quietly.
She nodded, not looking at me. "If I could just control enough things, plan enough, organize enough... maybe it wouldn't happen again. Maybe I could keep things from falling apart."
Control became safety. Structure became survival.
"That makes sense," I said. "When everything around you is chaos, you grab whatever handles you can find."
"But it doesn't work, does it?" She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I can't actually control anything. I just exhaust myself trying."
I thought about Julia, about her impossible schedule and way she deals with stress. "My sister's a lawyer. Type-A personality, always right, always busy. But she goes to these wild art events sometimes — the kind where people throw paint at each other and everything around them, everything's chaotic and unpredictable."
Courtney looked at me, surprised. "Why?"
"She says you need a little chaos in your life. To release some steam. To remember that sometimes it's good to let go, to just have fun and remember of joys of life. That if you spend all your time trying to control everything, you forget how to just... be."
"That sounds terrifying."
"For some…but she says it's worth it."
Courtney was quiet, processing that. "I'd probably bring goggles and a dropcloth."
"And she'd hand you a bucket of paint and tell you to aim for the ceiling."
That got a small, genuine laugh. Her shoulders loosened slightly, some of that rigid control melting away.
"Thanks," she said quietly. "For not... I don't know. For listening without making it weird."
"Anytime."
We sat together a while longer, watching the water, and the silence between us felt less heavy than before.
Confessional - Courtney:She's holding her clipboard, but loosely, almost forgotten. "I told Noah about my parents today. I don't... I don't usually tell people that. It feels too personal. Too vulnerable." She pauses, looking uncomfortable but also relieved. "But he didn't push. Didn't make it a big deal. Just listened and understood." Her expression softens. "Maybe that's why I could tell him. Because he doesn't try to fix people. He just... sees them. And that's enough."
The afternoon drifted toward evening. I found myself near the water's edge again, skipping stones across the calm surface. The rhythmic plunk-plunk-plunk was meditative, calming.
"You're pretty good at that."
I turned. Bridgette approached, barefoot, carrying her sandals in one hand. Her blonde hair caught the late afternoon light, and she had that perpetual surfer-girl ease about her that made everything seem less urgent.
"Practice," I said. "Had a lot of time by lakes growing up."
She settled beside me on the sand, setting her sandals aside. "It's peaceful here. When Chris isn't making us do something crazy."
"Yeah." I selected another stone, sent it skipping. Four bounces this time.
We sat in companionable silence for a bit, just watching the water. A fish jumped somewhere out in the deeper sections, creating ripples that spread and spread.
"So," she said eventually, "big plans after this? After high school and everything?"
I sent another stone skipping, considering. "I want to travel. See places that both are and aren't in brochures. The weird spots, the hidden ones. Places that feel like discovering something new."
"Like where?"
"The glowing caves in New Zealand. Ice fjords in Norway, Notre Dame, mount Fujii. Those tiny islands in the Pacific that barely show up on maps." I shrugged. "Assuming I can ever afford it. And that I don't get grounded for life after this show."
She laughed. "Yeah, money and parents are definitely obstacles to world travel. But it's good to have dreams, right? Even if they take a while to get to."
"What about you? Plans?"
"Surf different oceans," she said immediately, eyes lighting up. "See different coasts. Maybe compete professionally, or just travel and surf wherever the waves are good." She paused, thoughtful. "I think you'd actually be good at traveling. You've got this calm thing going on. Like you wouldn't panic when things get weird or unpredictable."
"I don't know about that. I tend to over-plan things."
"Sometimes planning is just being smart enough to handle whatever comes next," she said. "My best friend and I used to go sailing back home. We'd take this old boat that creaked like crazy and just follow the wind."
"That sounds amazing."
"It was! Scary sometimes, but amazing." She smiled at the memory. "One time we got completely lost in fog. Couldn't see anything for hours. I was panicking, but then the fog lifted and there was this pod of dolphins right next to us. Like they'd been guiding us the whole time."
"That's incredible."
"It really was," she said softly. "Made me realize that sometimes the best moments come when you stop trying to control everything and just trust the current. Let things happen."
"That's a good philosophy. I might steal it"
"Sure," she laughed. "Just remember who said it when you're famous. And you have to come surfing with me someday," she added. "After all this. Fair warning though — I won't go easy on you just because you're a beginner."
"Wouldn't expect you to."
"Good." She bumped my shoulder gently. "That's what friends do. Push each other to try new things."
Friends. The word settled warm and comfortable between us.
Confessional - Bridgette:She's smiling, genuinely happy. "Talking to Noah is easy. He doesn't try to impress you or compete. He just... talks. Listens. Shares ideas." She pauses, thoughtful. "I think he'd really love traveling someday. He's got that quiet adventurer energy — someone who explores because they're curious, not because they need to prove something." Her smile widens. "I hope we stay friends after this. He's good people."
Evening came softer than expected. I found Geoff tending a small fire near the cabins, poking it with a stick like it owed him money. He looked up as I approached, grin wide as ever.
"Bro! That food earlier? Legendary! You've got Chef Hatchet shaking in his boots."
"Pretty sure that's just residual anger," I said. "What are you doing?"
"Just vibing, man. Fire's nice, you know?"
I sat down on the log beside him. For a moment, we just watched the flames dance, the comfortable silence of two people who didn't need to fill every second with noise.
"So," I said eventually, "you're pretty good at bringing people together. The way you got everyone hyped this morning, the way people gravitate toward your energy."
He laughed. "Dude, I just like when people are happy! Parties, hanging out, good vibes — that's my thing."
"Ever thought about making it more than just your thing?" I asked. "Like, actually building something out of it?"
He blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
"Event planning. Party coordination." I poked the fire with my own stick. "You've got the energy, the people skills, the natural ability to make people feel welcome and excited. That's a legitimate career."
"Wait, seriously?" He looked genuinely surprised. "You think I could do that? Like, as a job?"
"Why not? People always need reasons to celebrate. Weddings, birthdays, corporate events, festivals. Someone has to plan all that, and most people who do it are way less enthusiastic than you."
He stared at the fire, smile growing slowly as the idea took root. "Huh. I never thought about it like that. Always figured I'd just keep throwing parties and being awesome and see what happens. But like... an actual career? Making people happy for real?"
"You're already doing it," I pointed out. "Just without the business card."
He laughed, loud and genuine, then slapped my shoulder hard enough to nearly knock me off the log. "Bro! That's actually brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?"
"Because you've been too busy living in the moment to think about the future," I said. "Which isn't bad. Just means you needed someone to point out the obvious."
"Man." He shook his head, still grinning. "You're not just chill — you're like, actually wise. That's sneaky, dude."
"Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."
Confessional - Geoff:He's leaning back, unusually thoughtful. "Noah said I could turn partying into a real job. Like, a career. Event planning." He grins. "I never thought about my future seriously, you know? Just figured I'd keep being awesome and see where it goes. But he's right — people need someone who knows how to make them happy. Who can bring everyone together and create good vibes."
Evening - The Porch
The camp had settled into that comfortable evening quiet. Laughter still drifted from the cabins — Owen telling another story, Duncan's sarcastic commentary, the general buzz of too many teenagers in close quarters.
But I needed air.
I stepped onto the porch of the boys' cabin, leaning against the railing, and looked up.
The stars were incredible here. No light pollution, no city glow — just endless pinpricks of light scattered across black velvet. The kind of sky that made you feel small and infinite all at once.
Second night in a row I've done this. Standing out here alone, staring at stars, thinking too much. This might become a habit.
The thought didn't bother me. Some habits were worth keeping.
I let my mind drift, reviewing the past two days. The cliff jump. The hot tub build. Courtney's vulnerability. Katie's kindness. The morning in the forest. The camp gathering for breakfast.
Somewhere in all of it, something had shifted.
I'd spent the first month after waking up here trying to maintain separation. Drawing lines between who I'd been and who Noah was. Holding onto my old identity like a life raft, terrified that if I let go, I'd drown in someone else's existence.
But standing here now, I couldn't find the line anymore.
The memories of my old life were still there — clear enough, detailed enough. Still mine. Still my past. But that's the thing: they'd become past. Something that built the person I was today, but no longer defined everything I am.
I'll always miss that life, I acknowledged, feeling the weight of it settle familiar and heavy in my chest. My family. My friends. My apartment. Everything I built there. That loss will always be with me, even if the sharp edges have dulled.
But today I'd realized something. That wasn't my only past anymore. Not the only thing that made me who I am.
Noah's memories — the original Noah's life — they were there too. Just as detailed, just as accessible. When I first woke up in this world, thinking of them had been like reading a very thorough biography instead of remembering my own childhood. Secondhand information, clinical and detached.
Now?
Now my own impressions had started bleeding into them, making them more real. More mine. Or maybe some of original Noah's feelings had mixed with mine — I couldn't tell anymore where one ended and the other began.
His habits and mine had intertwined. The way I held myself, the casual sarcasm, the ease with early mornings after late nights. My knowledge had shaped his instincts — survival skills he'd never had, awareness of people he'd never met, understanding of events that hadn't happened yet.
And Julia.
I thought about her — the way she'd looked at me during that drive to camp, pride and worry and love all mixed together. The way she'd ruffled my hair and called me petit génie like it was armor against the world.
Noah's memories told me she was precious. My own experiences with her over the past month made her precious. The distinction didn't matter anymore. She was my sister. Mine to protect, mine to call family, mine to come home to.
We merged, I realized with startling clarity. Not one person overwriting another. Not me stealing his life or him losing himself to me. We just... became one person. Something new from the combination of both.
That's what had changed. Not that I became him or he became me. We became us. One person built from two lives, carrying both sets of memories but feeling neither as wholly ours.
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of pine and lake water. A loon called out across the lake, lonely and beautiful.
So this is it, I thought. Goodbye to whoever I was before. Thank you for the skills, the knowledge, the perspective. Thank you for caring enough about this show that I know what's coming. I'll carry you with me — all the good parts, all the things that made you who you were.
And goodbye to who Noah was before I woke up here. I'll honor you. I'll take care of your sister. I'll be the person she believes I can be. I'll be better than either of us would've been alone.
But from now on... I'm just Noah. Not a visitor. Not a replacement. Not two people forced into one space. Just one person, carrying two lives' worth of memory, trying to make something good out of an impossible situation.
The decision settled into my bones like finally finding solid ground after weeks of treading water.
I took a deep breath of cool night air and let it out slowly.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. Chris's sadistic creativity. More eliminations. More people to help or fail to help. More chances to mess up or succeed.
But tonight, standing under stars in a body that finally felt unified, I was just Noah.
And that was enough.