Chapter 1
Stacia
I'mgoingtorelaxif it kills me.
Which, as of two minutes ago, feels like a real possibility.
I'm alone, stranded in the middle of a lake that stretches like molten glass under the brutal afternoon sun, and clinging to an upside-down paddleboard that just clocked me in the head when I tried to climb back on. My ears are ringing from the impact, a high-pitched whine that cuts through the lazy drone of cicadas somewhere in the distant pines. My vision wavers, blurring at the edges.
Something wet trickles down the side of my face.Please be lake water…
I raise a hand to touch my head, and my fingers come away sticky with blood.
That’s just great.
This was supposed to be avacation. A peaceful, solo retreat to reset. Rest. Recharge. All those buzzwords I plaster on ads and marketing campaigns for Trekora Outfitters, a high-end adventure gear company—complete with stock photos of impossibly fit people grinning beside crystal-clear mountain streams. I've spent years selling the outdoors to people who actually had the time to enjoy it. But me? This is the first real break I've taken in... well,ever.
And it's goingspectacularly.
I was smart enough to put my phone and keys into a waterproof bag, but not smart enough tokeep them in it. I spotted a beaver in the water, and decided I justhadto take a picture of it.Mistake #1.So, holding the paddle under an arm, I awkwardly opened the waterproof bag.Mistake #2.Then,as I was pulling the phone out of the bag, the keys fell out, too—and landed with aplopin the lake.Mistake #3.
And the mistakes just kept on going from there, but my head hurts too much to keep counting them. When I made a mad grab for the keys, I ended up losing hold of the paddle. And when I tried to reach for it, I slipped on the board's slick surface and fell into the lake. Then I managed to hit myself in the head with the board.
So, my keys and my phone are at the bottom of the lake, the paddle is who-knows-where, and my head is bleeding. And now I'm clinging to the board, arms wrapped tight around the smooth fiberglass, legs drifting behind me like dead weight as the lake laps gently against my chin.
Wonder what happened to the beaver?
Wait… beavers don’t attack humans, do they?
In a panic, I search the water for any signs of the creature.Please, please, please, God… don’t let a semiaquatic rodent be the death of me.
The sun beats down mercilessly, turning the surface into a mirror of blazing white light that makes my head throb harder. The air shimmers with heat, and even the gentle breeze carries no relief—just more of that thick, drowsy warmth that makes my limbs feel like they're filled with sand.
My fingers slip on the wet surface, nails scraping uselessly against the board's textured grip pad. I blink hard, trying to clear my vision, but the tree-lined shore sways like I'm looking at it through a fun house mirror. I try to kick my legs to push my way toward land, but I can’t see the trees at all now.
That’s weird. Why is it suddenly so dark?
Because you’re about to pass out, dummy…
If I can just hang onto the board long enough, someone will rescue me. But who? No one knows I’m out here.
The lake house rental didn't have cell service, and there wasn’t Wi-Fi, either. That appealed to me when I booked the rental. Wouldn’t it be glorious to not hear the constant ping of email notifications? To truly disconnect from the rest of the world? Maybe I could actuallyrelax, for once.
Now, the silence I was so looking forward to isterrifying. All I hear is the gentle slap of water against the board, the sound of cicadas in the forest, and my own ragged breathing echoing across the empty expanse.
"Come on," I whisper, my voice hoarse and strange in the vast quiet. "Stay awake. Stay with it."
I try to kick again, but my legs barely respond, moving through the warm water like they're made of lead. The lake feels endless beneath me—not just deep, buthungry.A whimper bubbles up from my chest.I’m going to drown.
And then—through the pounding in my head and the lazy buzz of summer insects—I hear a new sound.
A splash. Sharp and purposeful, cutting through the afternoon stillness like a knife.
A shout that seems to come from everywhere at once. "Hang on! I’m coming!"
The voice is deep, rough-edged, carrying easily across the water with the kind of authority that makes you listen. I turn my head toward the sound, neck stiff as rusted hinges. I force my eyes to open.
There’s a man. Big, with broad shoulders cutting through the water like he was born to it, each stroke powerful and sure. Water streams from his hair—sandy brown, I think, though my vision is beginning to blur again. His arms slice through the lake's surface, creating a V-shaped wake behind him, and I can hear his steady breathing even from here.
