I step into the elevator before any of them can raise more objections. As the doors slide closed, I catch one last glimpse of the three brothers: Percy looking mildly amused, Prescott already typing furiously on his phone (probably researching hiking sites), and Hamilton standing with his arms crossed, looking like he’s plotting my slow and painful demise.
Perfect.
Operation “Make Three Not-So-Little Pigs See the Forest,” is officially underway.
10
Percy
Dawn isn’t my favorite time of day.
Actually, scratch that—dawn isn’t even on my list of acceptable times to be conscious.
Yet here I am, stumbling after Ruby Wolfhart’s perky ass—her wolf ears fully on display—through dewy undergrowth while my brother’s trail behind me, like we’re some dysfunctional conga line of pigs.
Hamilton looks ready to commit murder, I’m calculating how many cups of coffee I’ll need to feel myself again, and Prescott—the traitor—is practically skipping.
This is what happens when you let a wolf convince three pigs to go “commune with nature.”
Spoiler alert: nature involves bugs, dirt, and an alarming absence of espresso machines.
“Keep up, Porkwell’s!” Ruby calls over her shoulder, not even slightly winded despite the steep incline we’re currently scaling. “We’ve got eight miles to cover before lunch!”
“Eight?” I wheeze. “You said five yesterday.”
She flashes a wolfish grin that’s entirely too smug. “Did I? My mistake.”
Behind me, Hamilton is huffing and puffing and muttering something that could practically make our mother resurrect from the dead to smack us, and I silently second the sentiment.
I should be in my bed right now, or at least nursing a cappuccino in my kitchen. Yes, it’s beautiful, yes I did love my treck last time, but I didn’t start my day while the moon was still out. That’s just plain idiocy.
“This is amazing!” Prescott chirps, pulling alongside me with irritating energy. My youngest brother’s glasses are slightly fogged, but his eyes are bright with enthusiasm. “Did you know this forest has one of the most diverse ecosystems in the region? I was reading about it last night after—”
“Stop. Talking.” Hamilton’s voice cuts through the morning air like a chainsaw. He’s ten paces behind us, the designer hiking boots he insisted on wearing already caked with mud; expression murderous. “It’s too early for your nature documentary narration.”
“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Ruby calls back without slowing her pace.
I catch Hamilton’s eye and almost laugh at the pure affront on his face. My older brother, CEO extraordinaire—used to sleeping on memory foam in Egyptian cotton sheets—is in the wilderness, with bugs.
If looks could kill, Ruby would be a wolf-skin rug by now.
“This is a waste of time,” Hamilton grumbles as he catches up. “We could be reviewing the property from satellite imagery in the comfort of our office.”
Ruby stops so abruptly that I nearly collide with her. She turns, and there’s something dangerous in her eyes—something primal that makes my throat go dry.
“That,” she says, pointing to Hamilton’s phone, “is exactly why we’re here. You can’t understand what you’re about to bulldoze without seeing it, smelling it, feeling it under your feet. Especially when you’re adamant on turning it into another Shit-town.”
“Shiftown,” Hamilton replies.
“That’s what I said,” Ruby replies sweetly.
For once, Hamilton doesn’t have a snappy comeback. He just glares at her, tucking his phone away.
“Whatever,” he mumbles.
We continue in blessed silence for the next half hour. The forest gradually wakes around us—birds start their morning chatter, sunlight filters through the canopy in golden shafts, and the air fills with the scent of pine, earth and something else I can’t quite name, but it feels ancient and alive.
I catch myself breathing deeper, drawing in lungfuls of the crisp air. It’s… nice.
