This might just be the darkest night of my life.
Underneath the canopy of this densely wooded area, the glow of the moon barely breaks through; I’ve been at the mercy of my headlamp for the past couple of hours, only able to see what’s immediately ahead of me.
On the bright side, I can now be confident that what I’ve always claimed is actually true: I know these trails inside and out and could navigate them with my eyes closed. I’ve covered so much ground tonight that I’m practically sleepwalking right now, coasting on pure adrenaline to keep me moving and alert.
Finally, just down the trail, I see a small campfire.
And, in the firelight, a shadowy figure.
It’s too dark to see much at this distance, and he doesn’t see me yet—he’s facing the fire. I’m fairly certain it’s Matteo, given the build, but it’s hard to tell for sure.
The closer I get, though, the more it looks like whoever’s sitting there is all alone. I squint, trying to make out whether the hulking black blot on the other side of the fire is another person…or just a tree.
“Matty?” I call out. “Is that you?”
Itishim—a few more steps and it all comes into focus, Matteo and the fire and the tree I thought might be Joshua—but he doesn’t answer, doesn’t even turn to look at me.
My teeth clench on instinct.
I traipsethree hoursin the forest, at night, alone, and he can’t even be bothered to say hello?
I join him in the clearing, drop my pack. It lands with a thud, nearly crushing a grasshopper in the process.
Finally, Matteo looks up.
The sight of him is a force: he looks absolutely, utterly spent.
“Where’s Joshua?” I ask.
Clearly, he’s nothere.
“Thanks for coming, man,” Matteo says, stoking the fire with a stick, back to avoiding eye contact.
“Where,” I repeat through gritted teeth, “is Joshua?”
I count embers—ten, nine, eight, seven, six—before he finally answers.
“If I said I had no idea, what would you do?”
I can’t tell if he’s taunting me or serious or what. His tone is completely unreadable. Is he sleep-deprived? Delirious? Just an asshole?
“I think I might be more than a little pissed off,” I reply, an understatement.
“Well, then,” he says. “Prepare to be more than a little pissed off.”
A shiver of dread makes my skin tingle.
“I’m listening,” I say, keeping my voice as even as I can.
He makes me wait for what feels like an eternity.
When he finally looks up, I know that whatever’s about to come out of his mouth is the dead-honest truth.
“He went rogue,” Matteo says. “Haven’t seen him since yesterday, and I have no clue where he is now.”
I’m filled with a white-hot flash of rage.
This is so much more than just a little pissed off—this is Matteo losing an entire person.
