He smiles. “What I’m saying is we’re stuck with each other for three weeks. We can either make each other miserable, or we can choke down our complaints and get through it.”
“Fine,” I huff. “I’ll try not to remind you how absurd this whole situation is if you try not to raise your eyebrows every time I don’t know something about wilderness survival.”
“Deal,” he says, looking down at my new hiking boots. “At least you’ve got proper footwear now.”
I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me. “Don’t remind me. I buried my beautiful designer boots in Agnes’s shopping bag. They’re completely impractical, but I refuse to leave them behind.”
His expression softens slightly. “Speaking of practical items, you got thermal underwear, right? The one with the?—”
“The butt flap,” I finish, as heat rises to my cheeks. “Yes, against my better judgment.”
“Trust me, when you’re in a tiny tent in freezing temperatures, you’ll thank me for that recommendation.”
I sigh. “Add it to the growing list of indignities I’ll apparently be thanking you for later.”
“I’m keeping track,” he says, and I can’t tell if he’s joking.
As we continue toward the lodge, dread settles in my stomach. This isn’t an adventure. It’s a nightmare dressed as a career opportunity. And unlike the roles I’ve played before, there’s no script to tell me how this one will end.
Chapter Four
FINN
Four in the morning,and the darkness presses against the lodge windows. I move through the kitchen, packing trail food with efficiency. Dried meat, nuts, fruit leather, granola. Things that won’t spoil, are lightweight and packed with energy. The percolator gurgles on the stove, filling the kitchen with the smell of fresh coffee. I pour a cup for myself, then pause before reaching for a second mug. I warm some milk and add it to the cup, the way she likes it. Don’t know why I bother. Perhaps because eight miles of listening to complaints about black coffee would make the hike seem twice as long.
Elliott knocks at 4:15, his travel mug in hand. He and the crew are already on the porch, packs ready, checking camera equipment by headlamp light. These aren’t first-timers—they know what they’re doing.
“Everyone set?” Elliott asks.
I assess the group. “Where’s Lena?”
The silence tells me everything I need to know. I grab the extra coffee. “I’ll check on her.”
The night air bites through my jacket as I cross to hercabin. Light peeks from behind her curtains. Good. At least she’s awake. I knock. Wait. Knock harder.
“One minute!” Her voice sounds frantic.
Three minutes later, the door opens. She stands there fully dressed in hiking gear, hair pulled back, eyes wide. “Is it time already?” She blinks at me, openly shocked. “I thought you said five o’clock.”
“Departure at five. Prep at four.” I hand her the coffee. “Made this for you. Added some warmed milk.”
Surprise flickers across her face, then her shoulders lose some of their stiffness. “Thanks.” She takes a sip, closing her eyes briefly. “I needed this.”
“Pack check in fifteen minutes.”
She steps back, letting me have a view inside the cabin. Three bags sit on her bed, along with piles of clothing and equipment. “I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I pulled everything out.”
“That’s why we’re doing a pack check.” I nod toward the main building. “Finish that coffee, then we can sort through this.”
She takes another long sip. “I’ve barely slept.”
“The trail will wake you up.” I turn back toward the lodge, trusting she’ll follow. “First day’s always the hardest.”
In the lodge kitchen, Elliott is reviewing the day’s shooting plan with his team. They sit around the table with their coffee, examining maps and shot lists. Professional. Prepared. Lena observes from the doorway, her coffee mug clutched between both hands. “What’s the plan?” she asks.
“Eight miles today. Five uphill to reach the basin, then three across to our first campsite. Roughly eight hours of hiking, accounting for breaks and filming.”
Her eyes widen. “That long?”
