“Not yet. Finn’s not back, and Elliott’s still...” Carlos trails off as Elliott’s tent flap unzips with force.
"Alright, people, let's move!" Elliott booms, emerging with his clipboard. "We lost time yesterday. Need to make camp by nightfall. Where's Finn? He should have been back hours ago."
Right on cue, Finn strides into camp from the west, moving with a steady, ground-eating pace that masks the stiffness I know he must be feeling. His pack sits high on his shoulders, his expression calm, professional. Only I can detect the slight tension around his eyes, the careful way he holds his injured arm close to his body.
“Morning,” Finn says, his voice even as he nods to the group. “Just got back.”
Elliott turns, surprised. “Finn! At last. Any problems? We expected you sooner.”
“Trail was slower than expected coming down,” Finn replies, his voice smooth as he drops his pack near the fire pit without betraying any discomfort. “Dave’s evacuation went fine. He’s stable, getting treatment.” His eyes shift to mine, offering a neutral acknowledgment. “See you made it back okay, Lena. Looks like you were out early too.”
“It was stunning,” I say, matching his tone and stepping into the lie. “You missed the best light.” The words slide out smoothly, even as they knot something inside me.
Elliott studies us both for a beat, suspicion tightening his mouth, but he doesn’t push. “Good, good,” he says, already moving on. “"So, high camp today? We're back on track?"
"That's the plan," Finn confirms, moving to get the coffee started, his movements economical, hiding any sign of pain. "Weather looks clear. Trail should be manageable, mostly uphill from here. We'll reach high camp, then push to the filming location at Painted Peaks tomorrow."
Breakfast was tense, the usual camaraderie gone, replaced by a subtle strain. I watch Finn, seeing the subtle signs of discomfort he tries so hard to hide—the slight hesitation before bending, the way he favors his left side, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw when he lifts the heavy coffee pot. He catches me looking once and gives me a warning expression that practically screamsI’m fine, drop it.But I can’t. Worry, sharp and insistent, coils in my gut. A fall that left him bleeding and bruised, a night spent shivering in a cave before … before. That’s not ‘nothing serious,’ no matter how much he wants to pretend.
As the awkward silence stretches, Finn distracts everyone by emptying his pack onto a tarp near the fire. Protein bars, dried fruit, packets of nuts, and jerky tumble out in impressive quantities. “Brought extra rations,” he explains, sortingthrough the pile. “Figured we could use them after the flood took some of ours. Help yourselves.”
The mood instantly lightens. The crew gathers around, relief and interest replacing suspicion. Carlos grabs a packet of dried mango, Tom and Jake start comparing protein bar flavors, and even Elliott seems diverted for a moment, examining a package of smoked salmon jerky. It’s a clever move, shifting the focus and reminding everyone of his role as the provider, the capable guide.
While the others are occupied with the unexpected bounty, Elliott outlines his filming plan for the day. “I want to focus on the final ascent. The struggle, the determination. Lena, we’ll get shots of you using the compass, perhaps leading the way for a section. Show that transformation.”
“As long as it doesn’t slow us down,” Finn says, his tone leaving no room for argument as he pours coffee. “High camp by nightfall is the priority.”
As we break camp, I find a moment alone with Finn while the others are distracted by the food. “Seriously, Finn, how bad is it?” I whisper, indicating his arm with a nod. “You need to be honest. Pushing yourself could make it worse.”
“It’s handled, Mags,” he says, his voice low and firm, using the name that feels like ours alone. The use of it softens the dismissal, but the message is clear …back off. “I know my limits. We need to reach the Peaks.”
“Your pride is going to get you hurt,” I argue, my voice low. “You fell hard enough to be out all night.”
“My experience is going to get us there safely,” he counters, meeting my eyes. There’s a stubbornness there I recognize from myself, but also a weariness he can’t hide. “Trust me on this.”
I want to push, but the rest of the crew is gathering, packs ready. Elliott is looking impatient. “Alright,” I concede withreluctance. “But I’m watching you. One sign you’re struggling, and I’m calling a halt, Elliott’s schedule be damned.”
A ghost of a faint smile touches his lips. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
We set out from the camp, the mood changed. The shared experience in the cave hangs between Finn and me, an unspoken current between us, while the need for secrecy creates a different tension. Elliott’s suspicion adds another layer of complexity. The plan is clear: reach high camp by nightfall. But as we begin the climb, leaving the relative shelter of the basin behind, I can’t shake the feeling that the most challenging part of this journey isn’t the mountain ahead, but navigating what lies between us, and the secrets we now carry. And Finn, leading the way with his jaw set and his pain hidden, worries me more than any bear or storm we’ve faced so far.
Chapter Twenty-One
LENA
Wakingup beside Finn feels normal now, a dangerous sort of normal. The first shock of sharing such close quarters has faded, replaced by a quiet intimacy that hums beneath the surface of every interaction. I lie still in the pre-dawn chill, his steady breathing grounding me against the silence of the mountains. The memory of that night in the cave—the way he called me Mags, the vulnerability in his eyes, the unspoken understanding that passed between us—settles within me.
I slip out of our shared sleeping bag arrangement with care, mindful of his injuries. He’s awake, his eyes finding mine in the dim light filtering through the tent fabric. There’s no awkwardness—only a quiet acknowledgment of our time together.
“Morning,” I whisper.
“Morning,” he says back, his voice still rough with sleep. He pushes himself up, and I see the wince he tries to hide as his ribs protest.
“Easy,” I caution, instinctively putting a hand on his good shoulder. “Let me get the fire going first.”
He doesn't argue, but nods, sinking back down with a sighthat sounds like relief. That small concession, the willingness to accept even that minor bit of help, feels like a victory.
Outside, the air is crystalline, biting. The jagged peaks surrounding our meadow are painted rose-gold by the first rays of sun—an almost violent beauty. It's breathtaking, a stark, aggressive grandeur that seems to mirror the tension simmering within our small group, a tension that, right now, for me, is solely focused on the injured man I left in our tent.
