Chapter 3

Chapter Three

T amlyn

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."

His brow furrows, and he crosses his arms over his chest, the movement making his biceps flex. "On my land?"

I blink, my mind scrambling to catch up. "Your land?"

He steps closer, his boots crunching over the underbrush, and I have to tilt my head back to keep my eyes on his. "That's right," he growls, his voice like gravel. "You've crossed onto private property. These trees you're so fascinated by? They're slated for logging."

I glance around, piecing it together. The markings. The boundary I must've unknowingly crossed. But all I can think is how wrong it seems.

"You can't just—" I start, but he cuts me off with a harsh laugh, shaking his head like he's heard it all before.

"I can , and I will," he snaps, stepping even closer. There's barely a few feet between us now, and I feel the tension like a live wire crackling in the air. "This land belongs to me, and so do those trees. I suggest you pack up your little notebook and get the hell off."

I know I should back down, apologize, walk away. But something about him—about the way he looks at me, like he's challenging me—ignites a fire in my chest. I plant my feet, meeting his gaze head-on. "I'm not leaving," I say, my voice stronger than I expected. "This forest is special, and cutting it down would be a crime."

His jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. For a second, neither of us moves. The forest around us seems to hold its breath. And then, without warning, the anger between us shifts into something else. Something hotter. His gaze drops to my lips, and I swear I see something flicker in his eyes—desire. My breath catches, and before I can stop myself, I take a step toward him.

The next thing I know, his mouth is on mine. Fierce, demanding, like we're both trying to prove something. His hands grip my waist, pulling me hard against his body, and I lose myself in the heat of it, the tension we've been building up crashing down around us.

And just as quickly as it started, it's over. We break apart, both of us breathing hard, eyes wide. I don't know what just happened, but I know one thing for sure—I'm not leaving this mountain anytime soon.