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It was posted this morning, and it has one point four million views.

“What?” Holt says. He’s leaning over my shoulder now. “What’s wrong?”

“James posted the photos from the gate, and he made it sound like the north loop is part of the trail.” I scroll down. “It isn’t. It’s closed for good, and he just wrote that so people would click.”

That’s exactly the kind of thing I swore I’d never help do again, cheapening a real thing so it’ll sell. And now my face is all over it.

The comments go on forever.

The way he LOOKS at her. I’m not okay.

Purple hair girl is living my dream.

Is the orc single? Asking for me.

No. No, he is not, Brenda.

Purple hair girl can rescue me any day.

Holt growls at that one. The sound goes right through the rocking chair and into my bones.

I can’t stop. I keep scrolling.

Okay but what IS up north???

Road trip. Bring flashlights.

Count me in.

The phone buzzes in my hand again. It’s Prue this time, texting Holt. Have you seen this? My office, first thing. Both of you.

Holt takes the phone out of my hand, very gently, and sets it face down on the rail. Then he scoops me out of the rocking chair, laptop and all, and settles me in his lap on the top step. His arms close around me, warm and solid.

“Nobody is going near that bowl,” he says into my hair.

He sounds completely sure, and I want to be sure too.

But I saw the last comment before he took the phone. A woman from two states away has posted a screenshot of the old trail map, the one from before the closure.

She’s circled the north loop in red.

CHAPTER 10

UNDER PRESSURE

HOLT

The next morning, Prue calls us into her office. She doesn’t yell. Instead, she turns her computer screen to show us James’s post, folds her hands on the desk, and waits.

“I’m guessing neither of you knew about this,” she says.

“No,” Wren confirms. “And the caption is wrong. The north loop isn’t part of the trail. It’s permanently closed, and people need to know that before they drive four hundred miles with flashlights.”

I watch Prue’s face as Wren speaks. She’s not angry at us. She’s angry at James, and she’s tired. But she’s a little bit pleased about the 1.4 million views. I can smell it on her: reluctant excitement.

“I’ll call the tourism office,” Prue says. “The caption gets fixed today. ‘North loop permanently closed for safety,’ in big letters.” She looks at me over her glasses. “And Holt? Put a second lock on that gate.”

“Already done.”