The morning air in North Cascades National Park bit at Penny's cheeks—clean, sharp, tinged with pine and the iron-crisp tang of frost. The cold wasn't harsh, but bracing, like a whispered challenge. Her breath clouded in front of her as she zipped her fleece up to her chin and stepped off the cabin porch. The river behind her roared with steady strength, unseen but ever-present—like a heartbeat in the bones of the forest.
She adjusted the strap of her camera bag, feeling the comforting weight of her gear against her side. The pendant rested warm against her chest beneath her layers, pulsing gently in time with her steps. The wind stirred the trees above her, ancient firs murmuring secrets to one another in a language older than words.
Only her boots on the gravel kept time with the wilderness around her.
Ahead, nestled into the trees like a puzzle piece, stood a modular building marked with the CASCADE logo. Aluminum siding. Satellite dish. Steel door. The research hub.
Penny's stomach fluttered. Excitement warred with something else—something colder, quieter. An unease she couldn't explain, but couldn't ignore. The feeling had followed her since the plane landed. Since the clouds had opened and she'd first seen the jagged wilderness stretch out beneath her.
The wild will guide you, Amara had said. And Penny had believed her.
But belief didn't quiet nerves.
The door swung open before she reached it.
A tall man stepped out. Sharp lines. Graying hair swept back with military precision. Eyes like chipped ice—cool, pale, unreadable.
Dr. Brady Fallon.
He scanned her in a single, surgical glance—boots, braid, camera bag, the pendant at her chest—and then offered a smile so perfectly controlled it may as well have been rehearsed.
"Penny Voss," he said, stepping forward and offering his hand. "Welcome to CASCADE."
His grip was cool and brief. Polite. Professional. Detached. His gaze, though, lingered—first on her face, then on the amulet.
"Your application video was… compelling. I'm glad you accepted our offer." He gestured toward the building. "Come inside. I'd like to get you oriented."
Penny nodded, following him into the research cabin.
It was warmer inside, lit by desk lamps and glowing monitors. Tables were strewn with maps, trail markers, data tablets, and satellite feeds. A giant wall-mounted screen displayed heat signatures and predator movement across a digital map of the North Cascades. It reminded Penny of a war room.
Fallon moved with quiet precision, pointing to a large physical map laid across the table.
"We're tracking apex predators in this region," he said. "Wolves, black bears, cougars. We've documented a possible grizzly, though sightings are rare this far west. Our goal is to capture accurate behavioral data and movement patterns during winter migration."
He tapped a marked area near Ross Lake. "These are confirmed convergence points for elk and deer. Most of our team has been focusing here. I'd like you to start in this zone—trail cameras, photographic evidence, behavior logs."
Penny leaned over the map, studying the markings. Her fingers brushed the pendant. It pulsed again, warmer this time. Not urgent, but... insistent. Her eyes drifted westward across the map, to a shaded, unmarked zone near Desolation Peak—rugged, remote, surrounded by no official trails.
She frowned.
There, in that spot, she felt a tug—not external, but internal. A whisper in her bones. Her heart beat harder, faster.
She pointed.
"I'd rather start here," she said.
Fallon's brow rose. "That's further out. There are no stations there. Minimal coverage. Why that area?"
Penny hesitated only a breath. "It feels… wilder."
Something flickered in his eyes—doubt, maybe. Or suspicion.
Then he nodded, slowly. "Very well. Sometimes instinct uncovers what science overlooks."
His tone was agreeable. But his eyes watched her like she was under glass.
"You'll be on your own out there," he added. "You'll need to be precise. Detail everything. If you see anything unusual—behavior, migration deviations—log it. We need facts."
"Understood," Penny said, though the pendant warmed again like it disagreed.
Fallon didn't look away from her. "Your father trusted his instincts, too. But he also took risks."
She met his gaze. "So do most great photographers."
There was a pause. Then Fallon turned away to check the screen, ending the conversation without a word.
A few minutes later, the crunch of tires outside signaled the arrival of a black research jeep. Penny turned to see Guy Marek climb out, taller than she remembered, broad-shouldered and casual in a gray jacket and worn jeans. He moved like someone who belonged in the field—confident, loose-limbed, with stubble on his jaw and a cocky grin already in place.
"Ready to play with the toys, Voss?" he called.
Penny chuckled despite herself. "Depends. You bring the good ones?"
Guy popped the latch on a silver gear case and motioned her over. "Only the best for Fallon's star recruit."
She joined him at the tailgate, eyebrows raising at the contents of the crate: sleek trail cameras with infrared sensors, a compact drone in a padded case, solar chargers, a satellite phone, a rugged laptop built for field upload, and a bag of high-tech sensor spikes.
"These are CASCADE's eyes in the wild," Guy said, handing her the drone controller. "You'll be setting trail cams along game corridors—motion-activated, low-noise, night-capable. Drone's for aerial surveys, but keep it low. Cougars hate the buzz. Satellite phone's your lifeline—no bars out there."
He demonstrated the uplink port on the laptop and pointed to the battery array. Penny absorbed everything, nodding, asking questions. Despite herself, she was impressed.
"You're a natural," Guy said, watching her handle the drone. His voice softened slightly. "Your dad would've been proud."
She glanced at him, caught off guard.
Then his eyes flicked to the pendant again. He didn't hide it this time.
"That necklace—your dad's?"
Penny pressed her fingers over it. "Yeah. My mom gave it to him. It's… kind of my compass."
"It looks old."
"It is," she replied. "Older than me. Older than him, maybe."
Guy studied her, thoughtful now, grin faded.
"Well, it suits you," he said. "It looks like it belongs out there. In the wild."
They loaded the gear into the back of the jeep, stacking it beside her battered camera bag and a rucksack full of freeze-dried food, gloves, thermal gear, and a flask of strong Kenyan coffee Amara had made her pack "just in case the cold tries to take your bones."
Guy checked her boots, her coat, and her satellite beacon with casual thoroughness.
"I'll take you north by boat up Ross Lake and drop you at the base of Desolation Trail," he said. "It's about a four-hour hike to your chosen spot. You'll be out of signal range for most of it. Don't take unnecessary risks."
"I won't," Penny said, tightening the straps of her pack.
He gave her a look. "And don't wander. Those woods run deep. They watch back."
Penny smiled faintly. "They always have."
Guy raised an eyebrow, then stepped back. "I'll see you in a week. If you're lucky, I'll bring dinner. Freeze-dried lasagna and peanut butter cups."
"Tempting," she said, raising a brow. "But I'm more of a beef jerky girl."
"Then I'll bring both," he said. "Wouldn't want to risk a poor review."
He clapped her on the shoulder, eyes lingering for a moment. "Good luck out there, Voss."
"Thanks."
As the jeep rolled away, Penny stood still, letting the wind bite her cheeks again.
She turned toward the path that would take her to the lake.
Her pack was heavy. The drone buzzed softly in her hand. Her pendant pulsed.
Above her, a raven circled once, then flew west.
She followed.
The wild was waiting.