Chapter 1
Maddie
The tires crunch over gravel as I ease the Jeep to a stop in front of the cabin, the engine ticking as it cools in the thin mountain air. Devil’s Peak rises around me like it’s alive—towering evergreens, jagged slopes, shadows stretching long in the late afternoon light. It’s exactly what I came for.
Wild. Untouched. Mine.
I grip the steering wheel for a second longer than I need to, letting the quiet settle. No traffic. No voices. No reminders of everything I left behind.
Just me.
“Fresh start,” I murmur, pushing the door open.
Cold air bites at my cheeks as I step out, boots hitting the ground. The scent of pine and damp earth wraps around me, sharp and clean. My chest expands with a slow breath, something in me loosening for the first time in months.
Yeah. This is right.
The cabin sits tucked between a cluster of trees, rustic but solid. Weathered wood. Wide porch. A place that looks like it’s seen storms and survived them.
I can work here.
I pop the trunk and haul out my gear—camera bag, tripod, duffel. The weight of it grounds me, familiar and steady. This is what I know. What I trust.
Through the lens, everything makes sense.
Without it?
Stillness.Toostill.
My gaze flicks to the tree line. I shake it off and slam the trunk shut harder than necessary. “Get a grip, Maddie.”
It’s just quiet. You wanted quiet.
I climb the steps to the porch, the boards creaking under my weight. The key is exactly where the rental message said it would be—tucked under a loose plank near the door. I grab it, unlock the cabin, and step inside.
Dim light filters through the windows, dust motes floating in the air. It smells like woodsmoke and old cedar. Simple. Clean. Safe.
I drop my bag by the door and move through the space, checking each room out of habit. Living area. Kitchen. Small bedroom. Bathroom.
No surprises.
“Good,” I mutter, exhaling.
I head back outside, grabbing the rest of my gear. The sun is dipping lower now, casting long shadows through the trees. The light is perfect—golden, soft, the kind photographers chase across continents.
And it’s right here.
I sling my camera around my neck, adjusting the strap as I step off the porch and into the clearing. The forest hums quietly around me—wind threading through branches, distant birdcalls, something rustling deeper in the underbrush.
My pulse ticks up, just slightly.
Excitement. That’s all it is.
I lift the camera, bringing it to my eye, scanning the tree line. Light filters through the branches in broken patterns, dancing across the forest floor. I take a few test shots, adjusting the focus, the aperture.
Click. Click. Click.
The rhythm steadies me. This is why I’m here.
