Troll Daddy counted the bonus money three times before he told his wife. The bills sat on the kitchen table between them, more than he'd seen at once in months. He knew what he should do with it—fix the leaky roof, pay down the heating bill. But his kids deserved better than another weekend watching him leave for work. Troll Sister complained the entire drive up. Too long, too boring, why couldn't they just stay home and watch movies. Troll Daddy gripped the steering wheel and let her words wash over him. He'd packed the fishing rod his own father gave him years ago, wrapped in an old blanket in the trunk. Maybe this weekend he'd actually use it to show them something real. The tent went up crooked the first time. Troll Brother held one pole while Troll Sister rolled her eyes and Troll Baby toddled around pulling at the stakes. Troll Daddy started over, patient this time, showing his son how to thread the poles through the loops. When they finally got it standing—lopsided but solid—he felt something loosen in his chest. Troll Sister stepped out of the car at the lake and stopped mid-complaint. The water stretched out calm and blue, reflecting the sky and the line of trees along the far shore. She breathed in deep, and Troll Daddy saw her shoulders drop. "It smells clean," she said, almost to herself. He set down the cooler and looked at his three kids standing by the water's edge, and for the first time in months, he wasn't thinking about next weekend.

They made it through the first night without any real problems. Troll Mother unpacked sandwiches while Troll Daddy showed the kids how to spot the shallow parts of the lake where the fish liked to rest. Troll Brother listened for a while, nodding when his father pointed to the darker water near the fallen tree. Then after lunch, when no one was watching, he wandered off toward the woods along the shore. Troll Daddy noticed him missing when he counted heads for the hike to the change room. Three kids this morning, two now. His chest tightened. He called his son's name once, then louder. Troll Sister pointed to a trail of bright candy wrappers leading into the trees, the kind Troll Brother had stuffed in his pockets before they left home. Troll Daddy followed them into the woods, pushing past low branches. The wrappers stopped at the tree line. He shouted again. The forest swallowed the sound completely, giving nothing back. He stood there for a long moment, listening to his own breathing. All those weekends he'd promised to teach Troll Brother what to do if he got lost, how to find his way back by following water or marking trees. Next weekend, he'd always said. Next time. His hands shook as he cupped them around his mouth and called again. This time he heard a faint reply, off to the left near the water. He crashed through the undergrowth and found his son standing beside an old abandoned boat, half buried in sand and tangled with nets. Troll Brother looked up, more curious than scared. "I was exploring," he said. Troll Daddy pulled him close, then made himself let go. His heart still hammered but his son was safe. He knelt down in the sand and said, "We're going to walk back together, and you're going to show me every landmark you remember." Troll Brother pointed to the boat, then a bent tree, then the change room visible through the branches. Not enough. Not nearly enough. But Troll Daddy didn't wait for next weekend this time. He spent the next hour teaching his son how to blaze a trail, how to listen for the camp, how to stay calm. When they finally walked back to the tent, Troll Brother knew three things he hadn't known that morning. It wasn't everything. But it was a start.

Troll Daddy woke to the sound of rain hitting the tent roof. Not the gentle patter they'd fallen asleep to, but heavy drumming that made the canvas shake. He sat up and checked his watch. Three in the morning. The air inside felt damp and cold. Troll Mother was already awake, shining her flashlight toward the tent entrance. Water pooled at the base, seeping under the flap. She looked at him with wide eyes. "The lake," she said. He pulled on his boots and crawled outside. Rain slammed against his face. The shore had vanished. Water spread across their campsite, swallowing the fire pit and climbing toward the tent. His fishing rod floated past, the colorful lure bobbing in the current. He grabbed for it but missed. It drifted away into the darkness. Behind him, Troll Baby started crying. He splashed back to the tent and stuck his head inside. "We need to move. Now." Troll Mother was already stuffing sleeping bags into their packs. Troll Sister helped Troll Brother with his shoes. Troll Daddy grabbed the lantern and waded toward the parking area where they'd left the car. The beam caught the old iron gate that marked the trail head. Water rushed through the bars, knee-deep and rising fast. Debris from upstream jammed against the metal frame. The road beyond had turned into a river. He stood there for three seconds, feeling his heart pound. Then he turned around and ran back to his family. "We can't get to the car," he said. Troll Mother held Troll Baby tight against her chest. "The change room," she said. "It's on higher ground." Troll Daddy nodded. He had Troll Brother grab one pack while he hoisted the other. Troll Sister carried the food bag. They abandoned the tent, the cooler, everything else. He led them through the trees, checking over his shoulder to make sure everyone stayed close. The change room sat fifty yards up the slope, old concrete walls and a metal roof. They reached it just as the water touched the bottom step. Inside, it smelled like mildew and rust, but it was dry. He counted heads. Everyone made it. Troll Brother was soaked and shivering. Troll Daddy pulled him close and wrapped him in a damp sleeping bag. His son looked up at him. "What do we do now?" Troll Daddy didn't have all the answers. But for the first time in a long time, he was right there with them when it mattered. "We wait for daylight," he said. "Then we figure it out together."

Troll Daddy sat against the concrete wall with Troll Brother on one side and Troll Sister on the other. Troll Baby had finally stopped crying. The rain hammered on the metal roof. He closed his eyes and tried to think through their options for morning. He reached into his jacket pocket for his lighter, hoping to start a small fire in the old barrel near the door. His fingers found something else instead. The compass. Brass, heavy, engraved with letters he'd traced a thousand times as a kid. His father had left it on the kitchen table the night he walked out. No note. Just the compass, like directions mattered when you weren't coming back. Troll Daddy had carried it ever since, some stupid part of him waiting for the man to need it, to come asking. Now he held it in the dark and felt his chest go tight. This exact thing. His father had left him waiting in the night, scared and cold, while the adults figured things out. Except his father never came back to figure anything out. Troll Brother shifted closer, shivering hard. Troll Daddy opened his eyes. He could see their shapes in the dim light from the window. Troll Sister had pulled the sleeping bag around both kids and Troll Baby. Troll Mother watched him from across the room. He put the compass back in his pocket and stood up. They had one dry sleeping bag left in the pack. He pulled out the rest of their gear and found a metal canister and some newspaper that had stayed protected. Within minutes he had a small fire burning in the barrel. The flames lit up the room. The kids moved closer to the warmth. Troll Brother stopped shaking. "We're going to be okay," Troll Daddy said. He meant it. The compass stayed in his pocket where it belonged. He wasn't his father. He was here. When morning came, they'd walk out together, and he'd teach them every step of the way. But right now, keeping them warm was enough. The fire crackled. Troll Sister leaned against his shoulder. Outside, the rain kept falling, but inside, his family was safe.