The simple statement catches me off guard. In my world, people rarely take sides based on principle alone. There’s always an agenda, an angle, a favor to be repaid later.
“And because we have bigger problems,” he continues, pointing to the creek with a nod. “That water won’t be crossable today, perhaps not tomorrow either. We need a new plan.”
Predictably, Elliott slips his producer’s mask back into place.
“Slight change of plans. Since we can’t move forward today, we’ll use the time to capture some background footage of camp life. Lena, I want to film you trying to start a fire, perhaps struggling with setting up your tentagain.” I open my mouth to refuse, but he’s already moving on, directing the camera operators into position.
Something about his sudden shift in focus raises my suspicions. “I thought he’d push harder about the reshoot,” I say to Finn.
“He’s planning something,” Finn agrees. “Stay sharp.”
Throughout the morning, cameras follow my every move around camp, focusing on moments when my injured ankle causes me to stumble. Elliott directs with exaggerated patience, asking me to repeat simple tasks until exhaustion makes mistakes inevitable. By midday, frustration has me wound so tight I think I’ll break. I retreat to a fallen log at the edge of camp, elevating my throbbing ankle while the crew breaks for lunch.
Carlos approaches, looking uncomfortable. “How’s the ankle?” he asks, clutching his camera equipment.
“Been better,” I admit. “How’s the gear?”
“The memory cards survived.” He checked over his shoulder, then lowers his voice. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I need to show you something.” He seems so nervous that alarm bells immediately ring in my head.
“What is it?”
He sits beside me, opening his camera’s viewing screen. “Elliott had me compile footage for a rough-cut last night. I thought you should see what he’s planning to show the network.”
The small screen flickers to life. Me, trudging through mud, face a mask of pain. My pain, yes, but amplified, isolated. Cut to me fumbling with the tent. He left out the part where I figured it out. Cut—dropping the pot. Once, after hours of exhaustion. Cut—slipping on a log. It’s a carefully crafted ballet of my misery and incompetence.
“I don’t remember being that bad,” I say, frowning.
“You weren’t,” Carlos confirms. “He’s cherry-picking moments, editing them together out of sequence.” He scrolls through more footage. “And this is how he’s cutting yesterday’s rescue.”
The screen shows me looking panicked as Carlos falls into the water. Then Finn rushing forward, taking charge, directing me to hold the rope while he performs the actual rescue. The footage has been manipulated to make it look like I was a helpless bystander following Finn’s instructions, not the person who created the rescue system.
“That’s not what happened,” I say, anger building.
“I know.” Carlos looks miserable. “I was there. You saved me. But Elliott wants the narrative of you being helpless so your transformation later will seem more dramatic.”
“Let me guess—the transformation happens when we reach the final filming location?”
He nods. “Where you’ll become capable after Finn’s expert guidance. Elliott calls it your ‘wilderness awakening’ moment.”
“It’s all a lie,” I say, the realization sinking in like a lead weight. “This whole show is built on making me seem incompetent and then ‘fixing’ me.”
“That’s reality TV,” Carlos says with a shrug. “They hired you for your name recognition and your recent reputation problems. It was never about showing the real you.”
The words hit like a physical blow. In my desperation to salvage my career, I’ve allowed myself to become a caricature—the helpless city girl who needs a rugged mountain man to rescue her from herself. It’s not only manipulative, it’s insulting to everything my grandmother taught me, everything I’ve worked to become despite my constructed Hollywood image.
“I’m sorry,” Carlos adds. “I shouldn’t have shown you, but it didn’t seem right.”
“No, I needed to see this.” I hand back his camera. “Thank you for being honest with me.”
He nods, then returns to the main camp area. I remain on my log, watching the crew through fresh eyes. The cameras that have followed me aren’t documenting my journey. They’re manufacturing a story at my expense. I lift my eyes to the mountains beyond camp. My grandmother would be ashamed of me now—not for being caught in this situation, but for allowing others to erase who I am. For forgetting the strength she tried to instill in me.
The sound of approaching footsteps gets my attention. Finn appears, carrying a steaming mug that smells of herbs. “Willow bark tea,” he says, offering it to me. “For the ankle.”
I accept it, the bitter aroma triggering memories I’ve spent years suppressing. “Carlos showed me what Elliott’s been doing with the footage.”
Finn’s expression darkens. “How bad?”
“Bad enough.” I take a sip of the tea, grimacing at the taste. “They’re making me look completely helpless. Even yesterday’s rescue is being rewritten so it seems I stood there while you did everything.”
