24. Wren #2
“They arrived an hour ago,” I admit, looking down at my boots. “Three SUVs. Thermal cameras. Drones. They’re setting up in the lobby. Sarah Vance is smart, Rowan. She’s already asking why I’m trying to push them toward the South Ridge. She knows the heat is here.”
Rowan turns away from me. I can’t see his face, but I can feel the tension radiating off him. I’d have preferred the primal, bark-skinned fury I’d seen before to the disappointment.
“We talk first. That’s our agreement. Why didn’t you come and talk to me first?”
“I’m sorry, Rowan. I should have talked to you. But it’s done now. And I should have told you about the crew coming as soon as I knew. I was scared.”
“Scared of the cameras?” he asks, finally looking back at me. “Or scared that I would leave?”
The question is too honest. It strips away the layers of pragmatic defense I’ve built over the last few days. I look at him, at the man who has seen humans come and go for centuries, and I realize I’m the one who is transient. I’m the storm, and he’s the mountain.
“Both,” I say. “I didn’t want to lose the lodge. And I didn’t want you to look at me the way you’re looking at me right now.”
Rowan sighs, a sound like wind through dry needles.
He steps toward me, closing the distance until I have to tilt my head back to see his eyes.
He doesn’t touch me, but the proximity is overwhelming.
The air between us is suddenly charged, the pressure of the coming storm mirrored in the heavy, aching silence of the clearing.
“I’ve lived in these woods for a long time, Wren Cassidy. I’ve have watched your family for generations. Florence was a woman of many words, but she never used them to hide a truth. She understood that a secret is a debt that eventually demands payment.”
“I’m paying it now. I’m telling you everything. The cameras, the drones, the bounty. Everything.”
“You’re only telling me because you have run out of ways to hide it,” he corrects, though his voice has softened slightly. “But the mountain doesn’t care about your intentions. It only cares about the footprint you leave. And right now, your footprint is covered in silver SUVs and thermal lenses.”
A low roll of thunder rumbles in the distance. The first drop of rain hits my forehead, cold and sharp.
“I have to go back,” I say, looking toward the darkening sky. “The crew... if they’re out in this when it hits, they’re going to get lost. Or they’re going to find something they shouldn’t while they’re scrambling for cover.”
Rowan looks up at the sky, his nostrils flaring. “The storm will do more to hide me than your maps ever could. But it will also make them desperate. Desperate humans are loud, and they are dangerous.”
“I’ll handle them,” I say, though I felt anything but confident. “I’ll get them back to the lodge. I’ll tell them the trails are closed due to the weather. I’ll keep them inside.”
“And then?” Rowan asks. “When the storm clears and the cameras are still there? What’s your plan then, Wren?”
I don’t have an answer. I spent so much energy on the containment that I never thought about the aftermath. I’ve been trying to survive the next hour, the next day, the next interaction. I haven’t been thinking about the next century.
“I’ll figure it out,” I say. “I’m good at interpreting myths. I’ll find a way to make them believe the myth is gone.”
Rowan looks at me for a long beat, his amber eyes searching my face. For a second, I think he might reach out, might pull me into the safety of his arms and tell me we were still a team. But he just nods.
“Go back to your lodge, Wren,” he says. “Manage your crew. I will manage the forest. But don’t lie to me again. The mountain remembers, even if you don’t.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond. Turning, he vanishes into the shadows of the cedars, his movements so fluid and silent that he seemed to simply dissolve into the gray light of the afternoon.
The rain is falling in earnest now, a steady, relentless drumming that drowns out the high-pitched whine of the drones in the distance.
I walk back to the lodge, my heart heavy and my mind a chaotic mess of calculations and guilt.
The wind is picking up, whipping the branches of the fir trees into a frantic dance.
By the time I reach the gravel lot, the rain is a deluge, turning the gray gravel into a slick, muddy soup.
The silver SUVs are dark, their occupants having retreated into the safety of the lodge, but the satellite dish is still there, its white surface reflecting the flashes of lightning that were now cracking across the peaks.
I push through the doors, dripping wet and shivering. Sarah Vance is standing by the fireplace, a tablet in her hand. She looks up as I enter, her expression one of professional concern combined with predatory excitement.
“Wren! We were just about to send Jax out to look for you. This storm is incredible. The lightning is giving us some amazing atmosphere for the intro. But the thermal sensors... they picked something up just before the rain got too thick.”
My heart stops. “What did they pick up?”
“A heat signature,” she says, her eyes shining in the firelight. “Large. Moving toward the North Ridge. It was only on screen for a second before the interference hit, but Jax is convinced it wasn’t a bear. The bipedal movement was too consistent.”
My containment has failed. The storm that is supposed to protect him has instead provided the ‘atmosphere’ they need to justify staying. I’m out of marketing tricks, out of redirects, and nearly out of time.
“It was probably just a hiker,” I say, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears. “Someone trying to get to the shelter before the storm hit. Nobody should be out there, Sarah. It’s dangerous.”
“Danger makes for good television, Wren,” she replies, her smile widening. “And if that heat signature is what I think it is, you’ve already earned your fifty thousand. The question is, how close can we get before he notices us?”
I don’t answer as I walk to the window and watch the rain pounding the gravel lot.
And as the thunder shook the foundation of the house, I realize I’m not the guardian of the guardian anymore.
I’m just a woman standing in the middle of a wreckage I helped create, waiting for the mountain to decide my fate.