Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
There’s a part of me that wants to believe this place could be home, that I could put down roots here. But I know better. I always do. The mountain might be beautiful, but I’m not the kind of person who stays. I move, I explore, I find what I need, and then I leave before anything can tie me down. It’s easier that way.
Still, as I stand and look around, a tiny part of me wonders if maybe—just maybe—Copper Mountain could be different. Maybe this time, I won’t feel the urge to pack up and go once the excitement fades.
“One thing at a time,” I tell myself with a soft smile, brushing the dirt from my hands. For now, it’s just me and the mountain. There’s so much to explore, so much to uncover. I can feel the secrets of this place waiting just beneath the surface, and I’m ready to find them.
But a small voice in the back of my mind whispers that maybe, this time, I’m the one who’s going to be found.
Chapter Three
Tamlyn
The forest feels denser here, more alive. Every step I take presses my boots deeper into the soft, loamy earth, and the thick canopy above muffles any sound that might’ve followed me. It’s peaceful, though, like the world is waiting just for me to notice it. I crouch low, my fingers brushing over a cluster of vibrant ferns nestled at the base of a tree that looks like it’s been standing here for centuries.
I can’t help but smile. These plants are older, more intricate, their green hues richer than what I’ve seen before. This part of the mountain is special. I can feel it. The air is cool, carrying the scent of pine and damp soil, and it fills my lungs in a way that makes me feel more grounded than I’ve been in a long time.
I pull out my notebook, jotting down quick notes while my camera hangs loosely from my neck. I snap a few photos of the ferns, capturing the way their fronds curl delicately toward the light.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, chewing on the end of my pen in thought. I’m definitely further out than usual, but I couldn’t help myself. The deeper I go, the more fascinating the ecosystem becomes. It’s untouched, unspoiled—exactly the kind of place that could reveal something extraordinary.
Standing, I sling the camera back up, ready to press forward. The forest whispers around me, branches swaying lightly as though encouraging me to venture deeper, urging me to uncover the secrets hidden here. I’ve always trusted that call, that pull toward the unknown. It’s what makes me good at this job, what keeps me moving from place to place. Drives me to write the articles that help remind people why cherishing and protecting our old growth forests is so essential. But this time, I feel like there’s even more to it. This place isn’t just a job—it’s alive in ways I hadn’t expected.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle suddenly, and I stop. The air feels thicker, heavier somehow. There’s an odd tension in the atmosphere that wasn’t there before. I glance over my shoulder, my heart giving a small, almost imperceptible jump. It’s nothing—no one. Just my nerves. But the sensation lingers, like someone is watching me, following my every step.
Shaking it off, I focus again on the trees ahead. The trunks are marked, thick red lines slashed across the bark. Strange. I hadn’t noticed those before. They seem out of place, almost like scars on an otherwise pristine landscape. My fingers trail over one of the markings as I squint up at the towering pine above me. Why would anyone want to cut these down? They’re perfect, part of this delicate balance of life I’ve been documenting.
I shrug and move forward, excitement bubbling in my chest as I think about what I might find next. The deeper I go, the more I discover, each plant, each species more intriguing than the last. But that feeling, that weight on my shoulders—like eyes boring into my back—won’t go away.
I pause again, my breath catching. Maybe I’m not alone. Maybe there is someone out here.
Suddenly, a voice cuts through the silence, rough and low, sending a jolt through me.
“You lost?”
I whip around, and there he is. A man, tall and broad, stepping out from the shadows of the trees. His presence is commanding, like the forest itself bends around him. He’s wearing a flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, arms corded with muscle, and his jaw is set in a way that tells me he’s not pleased to see me. His eyes—sharp, dark, and more intense than I’m prepared for—lock on mine with a heat that makes me swallow hard.
“I—uh, no.” I stammer, my voice sounding too small for the sudden weight of the moment. “Just doing some research.”