The reserve was a three-hour drive from the city, a sprawling tract of old-growth forest, meadows, and a large, glacier-fed lake. The accommodations were a cluster of luxurious, rustic cabins surrounding a main lodge with a massive stone fireplace. It was beautiful—a gilded cage designed to look like freedom.
I arrived on a Friday afternoon, the autumn sun casting long, golden shadows through the towering pines. The air was clean and sharp, carrying the scent of needles and earth and distant water. It was a faint echo of the mountain air of Mount Caelestis-Sol, and the familiarity of it was both comforting and painful.
He had chosen this place deliberately. Whether he knew it or not, he had chosen a landscape designed to call to something deep in both of us.
Before heading inside, I pulled out my phone and snapped a quick photo of myself in front of the main lodge—my best attempt at looking casual and unbothered, despite the butterflies staging a full-scale riot in my stomach. The autumn light caught my hair just right, and the massive log building behind me looked impressively rustic-chic. Not bad for a woman walking into enemy territory.
I sent it to Apple with a caption:
Me: I'm alive and I made it. See? Perfectly safe. Nothing creepy here at all.
The response was immediate.
Apple: OH THANK GOD. I was this close to calling the forest rangers. And by "forest rangers" I mean that one guy I matched with on Tinder who said he hikes. I don't even like him but I was READY.
Me: Glad I could save you from that fate.
Apple: Okay so the lodge looks nice. Very "murder mystery weekend chic." I like it. Now WHERE IS THE PSYCHO, Kaelen the Ever-Running.? Is he there yet? Have you seen him? Is he lurking in the shadows like the emotionally unavailable villain he is?
Me: Not yet. Arriving later, apparently.
Apple: LATER. He's arriving LATER. That's strategic. That's "make an entrance" energy. He's going to sweep in all mysterious and brooding and you're going to pretend you don't care while secretly caring VERY MUCH. I know this dance. I've watched it in approximately forty-seven times on romance.com.
Me: I'll try to contain my excitement.
Apple: You do that. In the meantime, let's talk strategy. Have you scoped out the hiding spots yet?
Me: Hiding spots?
Apple: FOR WHEN THE PSYCHO COMES AFTER YOU. Obviously. You need to know where you can run. Cabins usually have good options. Under the bed is classic but predictable. Closets are solid but can trap you. Bathrooms have locks but then you're stuck in a bathroom which is undignified.
Me: I don't think I'll need to hide.
Apple: YOU DON'T KNOW THAT. This is how people die in movies, G. "I don't think I'll need to hide" cue dramatic music camera pans to psycho in the shadows scream DO YOU WANT TO BE THE ONE SCREAMING?
Me: You're very committed to this horror movie narrative.
Apple: I'm COMMITTED TO YOU. There's a difference. Okay, listen. Find the kitchen. Kitchens have knives. Knives are good. Also, pantries. You can hide in pantries AND grab snacks. Multi-tasking.
Me: I'll locate the pantry immediately.
Apple: Good. Also, check if your cabin has a back door. Always good to have an escape route. And windows—can you fit through the windows? You're skinny, you can probably fit. I'd have to grease myself up like a seal, but you? You could ninja out of there no problem.
Me: I'm not going to need to ninja out of anywhere.
Apple: Famous last words. Fine, fine. But seriously—text me when he arrives. I need to know what he's wearing. Is he doing full CEO mode? Casual but expensive? "I woke up like this" but actually spent two hours styling? DETAILS, G. I need to assess the threat level based on outfit choices.
Me: I'll provide a full report.
Apple: You better. And remember—Jessica believes in you. I believe in you. Your power is unmatched. Go in there, be brilliant. And if he tries anything—
Me: Knee him hard. I remember.
Apple: THAT'S MY G. Now go. Be confident. Be beautiful. Or rather, be you—glued to a book, looking all gloomy and unapproachable. That'll keep him guessing. Even better, wear something that would make him think about you for the rest of the workshop. That would give him something to think about rather than running. A**hole... Love you!
Me: Love you too, App.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket, Apple's chaos warming me more than the autumn sun ever could. Whatever happened this weekend, at least I knew someone was in my corner—rolling pin at the ready.