Chapter 40 #2
“It’s all studio magic?” Eli exclaims, clearly betrayed by the movie industry.
“You’ve seen the actors, Eli. There’s no way they can survive in the great outdoors like they claim. I saw more critters that day than I’ve seen in my life. Well.. until now, of course.”
“Sounds like the recipe for drama,” Ree remarks, focused on my story.
“Well, it only got worse when we realized the producers lied about the setting of the survival show. In the casting call, they included castings for male models, so we thought it was going to be a normal show with a twist. However, we were all dead wrong.”
The memories of that show from hell resurface in my memories.
The producers thought it would be funny to have an all-female survival show, pitting various women of different ethnicities against each other, like a dumb experiment.
The male models were just there as some sort of prop, sent in for “rescue” or “service”.
Those words were explicitly used, making me suspect there was something more.
There was, in fact, something more.
The whole thing, boasting a fat budget, one of the reasons why my mother didn’t allow me to quit on the first day, was a giant cover for money laundering and a huge orgy.
I was extended an invite but I took the imperative to decline before my mother saw the invite.
Thankfully, that dumb show didn’t make it out of production.
I leave out those details, but share some harmless antics.
“My only regret was going along with that stupid idea for over a month.”
“Oof! Sounds terrible honestly,” Ree says, sympathy actually forming in her eyes. Eli echoes her sentiment almost immediately.
“Yeah. Hollywood does sound as bad as I’ve heard.”
“Trust me, honey. It gets worse. Much worse,” I say, lowering my voice for dramatic effect. Eli visibly shivers while Ree rolls her eyes.
“Let’s get some work done, shall we?” Ree says, breaking up our story telling, but not in a mean way, all of us still smiling as she doles out chores.
I ease down onto a rock near the water, testing the weight of my wings. They’re still sore, but less violently so. Every shift pulls along new muscles, reminding me I’m not what I was.
Ree is already moving, brisk and purposeful. Eli mumbles about needing to get back in the water.
“Inventory first,” Ree says, almost to herself.
I glance at her.
She’s in her element.
Not calm—never that—but organized. Focused. Like if she keeps moving, keeps planning, she can outrun fear.
I stand carefully and walk over.
“What can I do?” I ask.
She blinks at me like I’ve said something unexpected.
“Help me count and sort,” she says, handing me a woven basket. “We’ve got dried fish, nuts, fruit, and a few roots Thivoll dug up. Some medicinal herbs. We need to know what will last and what won’t.”
I crouch beside her.
It’s oddly grounding—sorting piles, stacking, separating what’s edible now from what needs to be dried further.
“Fish first,” she mutters, passing them to me. “If we don’t smoke the rest tonight, they’ll turn.”
I wrinkle my nose.
“Guess I’m on fish duty then.”
She snorts softly. “Welcome to the glamorous life.”
I huff a laugh, then fall into rhythm beside her. For a while, we work in silence. The quiet isn’t tense. Just full.
Eventually she glances at me.
“You don’t have to help,” she says. “You just grew wings.”
“I know.” I shift, flexing one experimentally. “But if I sit there thinking about that, I’ll start spiraling.”
She nods slowly. “Fair.”
We finish counting the dried fish and move on to the nuts. I sort them into two piles—good and cracked—while Ree ties off bundles of herbs with thin strips of bark.
“So,” she says lightly, not looking at me, “what are you good at?”
I pause.
“What?”
“If we’re building something sustainable here, we need to know what everyone brings to the table.” She shrugs. “I’m medical. Triage, wound care, basic anatomy across species apparently. Kira… kills. A lot. Well, I guess that’s the role of a lot of people. What about you?”
I stare at the pile of nuts in my lap.
What am I good at?
Singing on cue. Smiling on cue. Being whatever someone else needed me to be.
“I…” I trail off.
She doesn’t rush me.
“I’m good at memorizing things,” I say finally. “Patterns. I can read people pretty well.”
“That’s useful,” she says immediately.
I almost laugh. No it isn’t. Not here.
“I can cook,” I add, thinking. “Basic stuff. Not, you know, wilderness survival gourmet.”
“Also useful.”
“I can negotiate,” I say slowly. “Or at least I used to.”
She glances at me now.
“With who?”
“Men who wanted something from me.”
It comes out flat. Honest. She doesn’t flinch.
“That’s still negotiation,” she says.
I shrug. “It doesn’t feel like a skill.”
“It is.”
I swallow.
“Math,” I add quietly. “I’m good at math. I like it. No one’s cared about that before, though.”
“That’s their loss.”
The words land somewhere deep.
We shift positions, moving closer to the fire pit to stack the fish for smoking.
“Anything else?” she asks.
I hesitate.
I don’t know why the next words come out. Maybe it’s the lake. The open sky. The fact that no one here wants to audition me.
“I learned early that if I wanted something, I had to trade for it,” I say.
Ree stills slightly but doesn’t interrupt.
“My mom managed my… life,” I continue. “She also managed… everything else. What I wore. Who I talked to. What I wanted.”
I adjust a fish on the rack.
“She essentially was my pimp,” I grit out.
The words hang between us.
I expect something. Shock, pity, anger.
Ree’s jaw tightens, but she keeps her voice steady.
“I’m sorry.”
I let out a breath.
“I thought I was being strategic,” I say. “Like I was playing the game before it could play me.”
“And?”
“And it never stopped being a game,” I admit.
The wind ripples the lake surface. The sound is soft, rhythmic.
“I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud,” I tell her.
“How does it feel?” she asks gently.
I consider it.
“Less sharp,” I say. “Like it’s not just mine anymore.”
She nods.
“I’ve noticed that too,” she says. “Saying things makes them smaller. Or at least manageable.”
I glance at her.
“You?”
She huffs a quiet laugh.
“I worked in the ER for ten years. You compartmentalize or you drown. Then we got taken and suddenly I couldn’t compartmentalize anything.” She ties off another herb bundle with quick fingers. “I keep thinking if I just plan enough, organize enough, I can keep everyone alive.”
“That’s a lot to carry,” I tell her. “Too much.”
“Someone has to carry it.”
Touché.
We both smile faintly.
“I have a feeling more than you are carrying that load, Ree. I mean… I know I can carry part of it. I… I don’t feel like I’m competing here,” I say suddenly.
“For what?”
“For space. For attention. For value.”
She studies me. “That must be exhausting.”
“It was.” I look down at my hands. At the faint dusting of feathers along my wrists. “Here, it’s just… survival. Contribution. Being useful.”
“You are useful,” she says firmly. “And not because of what someone can get from you.”
The words hit harder than I expect. I nod once, throat tight.
“I want to help,” I say. “Not just exist.”
“You are helping. You will help more.”
I glance toward the tree line where Szhe’ka is perched, watching the sky. His silhouette is sharp against the light.
“It feels different,” I say softly. “Talking like this.”
“Better?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I breathe out slowly. “Better.”
She nudges a basket toward me.
“Then let’s keep you busy,” she says. “After we smoke the fish, I’ll show you how we keep Rannek supplied so you can take that over.”
“Who’s Rannek?” I ask.
She tilts her head, hands still busy with fish, toward the unassuming purple male, who is currently hovering over Szhe’ka like he wants something, but doesn’t know how to ask.
“Oh. He’s the construction artist. You want me to help him build?” I ask. “Look at you, delegating.”
She smirks. “You offered.”
I look over at him, his posture letting me know the Bitch would absolutely relish eating him alive. My lips turn up as I imagine myself instead helping someone so clearly unassuming create more of the beauty surrounding us.
It’s a thrilling thought. To create an art that’s both useful, and far more impactful than anything I ever made on a screen.
“I accept,” I tell her, grinning.
The lake shimmers beside us. The air smells like smoke and water and something new. For the first time in a very long time, I’m not performing.
I’m participating. And it feels… good.