I follow her line of sight. The mountains rise beyond the valley, snow-capped peaks catching the sunlight. Wildflowers dot the slopes with color. Even the destruction has its beauty—nature's raw power.
“Alaska doesn't try to be beautiful,” I say. “It is.”
Her attention is on my face. “You love it here, don't you? It's not only a business for you.”
The observation catches me off guard. “The lodge is more than that. It's home. A connection to my mother, to the land.”
“I envy that,” she says, her voice soft, almost wistful. “Having roots somewhere.”
Her words hit a nerve. Roots. She feels rootless. And here I am, taking mine for granted. Before I can find the words to respond, Elliott interrupts from across the camp.
“If we're doing this, we need to get moving. What's the plan, wilderness man?”
I pull out my map, spreading it across a flat rock. Lena leans in beside me, her shoulder brushing mine as she examines the contours. “If we head this way,” I say, tracing a routewith my finger, “we can follow this ridge line. Steeper but safer than the valley, especially with more rain coming.”
“What about this area?” she asks, pointing to a formation on the map. “It looks like it might be sheltered, and is that a water source nearby?”
“That's Crystal Basin,” I confirm, impressed she spotted it. “Sharp observation. It's a natural shelter with a spring. Would make a good camp for tonight.” I'm surprised by her attention to map details. “How did you pick that out from the contour lines?”
She shrugs, but I catch a flash of pride in her expression. “I pay attention to important things.”
“Like escape routes?” I can't help teasing.
“Like survival,” she corrects, something softer in her voice. “My grandmother would be disappointed if I didn't.”
The mention of her grandmother gets my attention. Every time she talks about her, it feels like a gift—a glimpse behind the Hollywood façade.
“Crystal Basin is our best option,” I agree. “Though it'll be a rough hike up.”
“Nothing has been easy since I stepped off that plane,” she says with a wry smile. “Why start now?”
As we finish packing, Elliott approaches, watching our interaction with that producer's calculation I've come to recognize. “Everything okay with you two?” he asks, trying to sound casual.
“Fine,” Lena answers before I can. “Discussing the best route forward.”
“Interesting,” Elliott muses. “The audience will eat up this developing dynamic. The friction at the start, now this growing partnership... It's gold.”
Lena’s jaw tightens. “We’re not characters in your show, Elliott.”
“Of course not!” he backpedals. “Just appreciating the journey.”
When he moves off, Lena mutters, “He’s still pushing that helpless angle.”
I don’t respond. We’ve been over it. She already knows I see through it too.
“He wants a rescue story,” she adds, quieter now. “Doesn’t matter if it’s true.”
I want to tell her she’s not the story he’s trying to sell. But I don’t.
Instead, I check my timepiece. “Ten minutes. Pack smart.”
The morning passes in hard work. The trail—what's left of it—climbs through dense forest. Conversation dies as we conserve energy. Sweat soaks my shirt despite the cool air. I set a pace that balances progress with caution, monitoring Lena's injured ankle. Every so often, I stop to check our bearings against the map, calculating distance and terrain.
During one break, Lena comes beside me, offering a piece of jerky from her dwindling stash. “You need to eat too,” she says.
I accept with a nod of thanks, aware I've forgotten my hunger in the focus of leading the group. “Smart thinking.”
“Following your advice,” she says, sitting beside me on a fallen log. “Food is fuel out here. The body needs energy regardless of appetite.”
