He wanted. He allowed himself to want.
Outside, the world was wild and vast and endless. But inside, for the first time in years, Ethan felt like he might finally know what he was after.
He closed his eyes and listened to the falls, letting the noise drown out everything but the hope of tomorrow.
Chapter 5 - Riley
Riley Evans woke to the slivered light of pre-dawn, the world outside his tent awash in gradients of blue, pine silhouettes hard-edged against the sky. The air was so cold it made his nose ache. He shivered, unzipped his bag, and wriggled into a down puffer that was still warm from being stuffed beneath his knees all night.
He stepped into the hush and let his eyes adjust. The camp looked fossilized, tents slumped under dew, nothing moving but mist and the distant, lazy fan of the waterfall. He breathed in sharp, pine-heavy air and felt good—almost proud. Not a single hangover, panic attack, or call from a needy client had made it past the filter of the woods.
First order of business: coffee. He padded across the hard earth to the battered camp stove, careful not to rouse the others. There was something intimate about being up first, like inheriting the world for a few stolen minutes. He measured out the grounds, used water from the sealed jug, and set the battered percolator to sputter over the tiny butane flame.
Behind him, the woods stirred: the ratchet of a jay, a far-off yip of coyote, something smaller rooting through leaves near the horses. The animals, still roped up from the night, blinked at him with slow, patient eyes.
The coffee steamed. He poured a mug, black and eye-stinging, and took it to the edge of camp where the world dropped away into the basin. Mist trailed off the waterfall, the valley below still asleep. He sat on a cold boulder, sipped, and let the loneliness roll in. Not the sad kind—the good kind, the kind that made the inside of his skull go quiet for once.
By the time he heard human movement, the sky had gone pink. Harper emerged first, a tangle of orange hair and fleece layers. She looked at Riley’s mug and said, “You saint,” then poured herself a double and slugged it.
Jack came next, shirtless, wearing only boxer briefs and a Patagonia vest, as if he was still in his condo. “It’s freezing,” he announced. “Why is it so much colder than yesterday?”
Riley smirked. “We’re a thousand feet higher, and you’re not acclimated.”
Jack ignored this, poured coffee, and stared at the distant falls with real appreciation. “This place is unreal.”
From the far tent, a zipper shrieked. Ethan stepped out, hair standing up like he’d combed it with a balloon, sleep-creased but wide-eyed. He didn’t say much, just accepted the mug Riley handed him and wrapped his hands around it like it was a lifeline. He looked different this morning—softer, maybe. Or maybe Riley just liked seeing people raw.
Cole approached silent and buttoned-up, already in trail gear, looking like a cowboy from an oil painting. He glanced around the group, nodded, and made for the horses.
Riley tracked him, cataloguing the morning stubble, the practiced economy of motion, the way every gesture seemed to account for two or three potential disasters.
“Sleep alright?” Riley asked, as Cole checked the girth on Harper’s horse.
“Always do,” Cole replied. He eyed the group, then did a double-take at Jack’s lack of pants.
Jack grinned. “You’re just jealous you can’t pull it off.”
Harper snorted. “No one here wants to see you ‘pull it off,’ Jack.”
Cole ignored them, but there was a faint smirk at the corner of his mouth.
They drank coffee and stood in the cold, energy building as the caffeine took hold.
Cole waited until everyone was done with food and excuses. “I’ve got a surprise,” he said, leaning against the post of the makeshift kitchen fly. “I’m taking us off trail for a couple hours. There’s a place I think you’ll like.”
Harper perked up. “Please do tell.”
“A little hidden gem known as Crystal Springs Pool. It’s fed by underground hot springs. It’s very warm and pleasant water, especially on a chilly morning. Most people never find it unless you know where to look.”
The group was immediately on board.
They packed fast, broke camp, and left the basin in a churn of boot prints and cold breath. The first hour was pure forest—lodgepole pine, resin, and the loamy scent of meltwater trickling underfoot. The sun burned off the chill by mid-morning. Jack and Harper traded stories, one-upping each other with old stories and misadventures; Ethan stayed quiet, content to observe.
Riley rode at the rear, soaking up the low-level friction among the others. He liked being the observer, the watcher. It gave him a license to notice everything—Harper’s nervous finger-tapping, the way Jack always looked over his shoulder after every joke.
They left the main trail at a pile of stacked cairns, ducked into an overgrown side route, and spent the next half-hour riding single-file through willow thickets. The land got wilder, quieter, as if the world was holding its breath.
When the forest finally broke, they were in a bowl of granite and ancient pine, cliffs hemming them on three sides. At the center sat Crystal Springs Pool—a ring of stone and azure water so clear you could see the pale, skeletal branches sunken at the bottom. Steam curled up from the surface, the warm air making the whole thing look like a mirage or an invitation.
