Chapter 4: Night at Mushroom Rock

It wasn’t a full moon tonight, but the sky was clear. The moonlight was bright and cold, painting everything in a pale white.

The mountains were quieter at night, the usual hum of cicadas replaced by the far-off bark of a coyote. Somewhere in the dark, a coyote yipped, and the pine needles under my boots crunched like brittle bones. The air tasted like metal and pine needles. Every step felt like it echoed for miles.

From a distance, I could see a faint light on Mushroom Rock—Mr. Knox’s lantern fuel lasted a long time.

The old Coleman was like a lighthouse in the dark, a steady yellow glow against the endless black. My heart pounded as I inched closer, keeping low in the underbrush.

I crept up the mountainside, hidden by the trees along the path, and through the bushes I saw two tents.

My knees ached from crawling. The brush scraped at my arms, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was the yellow tent, and what might be inside.

The light wasn’t from a fire, but a lamp.

That meant they weren’t cooking or sitting around telling stories. Everything felt staged, clinical. Like some kind of transaction.

Mr. Knox sat between the two tents, his back to the cliff, talking to someone.

His posture was relaxed—too relaxed. He looked like a king on his throne, his subjects coming and going at his command.

The tents blocked my view. I couldn’t see who was sitting across from him.

I held my breath, waiting for a familiar voice or laugh. Every shadow seemed to move in the corner of my eye.

Even though I knew it had to be Aubrey, I was still curious. I lay flat on the ground and slowly edged sideways.

The ground was cold and damp, but I barely noticed. Inch by inch, I slid around the edge of the clearing, praying the dry leaves wouldn’t give me away.

Gradually, a side profile appeared at the edge of the tent.

Her glasses glinted in the lantern light. My heart lurched—at least she was alive. For now.

It was Aubrey.

She looked different at night. Her hair fell across her forehead, and she was biting her lip. There was a nervous energy about her—like she was waiting for something important to happen.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Even locals rarely came to Mushroom Rock—no one else could be here.

I realized I’d been holding my breath for minutes, afraid even a sigh would give me away. The only other sound was the wind rattling through dry leaves.

Aubrey’s whole figure came into view, not far away.

Her hands shook as she straightened her shirt, knees pulled up tight. In the lantern glow, she looked so small, so breakable.

She sat sideways on the grass, propping herself up with one hand, her legs curled to the side, smiling at Mr. Knox.

It looked almost innocent—like two friends sharing secrets at a summer camp. But something about it made the hair on my neck stand up.

She’d been cute during the day, now she was graceful and poised.

Gone was the giggly tourist. In her place was a woman who knew she was being watched, who wanted to be.

What were they talking about? I couldn’t hear a word.

My ears strained for any scrap of conversation, but the wind stole it away. Their mouths moved, but it was just shapes and shadows.

About ten minutes later, Mr. Knox took out his phone and made a call.

He scrolled through his contacts with practiced ease, his thumb steady and confident. The blue glow from the screen cast hard lines across his face.

He looked deadly serious, as if he couldn’t spare even a smile.

It was a side of him I hadn’t seen before. No charm, no easy jokes. Just cold focus.

The call was brief. He held out his palm, gesturing up and down.

Aubrey watched his hand, nodding as if she already knew what he’d say. She clutched her backpack like a lifeline.

Aubrey nodded, swung her backpack around to the front.

Her movements were careful, deliberate. She unzipped the top and pulled out something wrapped in a scarf.

The two of them fell silent, just staring at each other, wordless, quietly watching.

I could hear the wind whistling through the trees, the distant call of an owl. The silence between them was thick, heavy.

The mountain night wind was cold as ice, sending chills down my back. The two of them sat like statues, making my heart pound.

I pulled my jacket tighter, trying to keep still. My pulse thundered in my ears, louder than anything they were saying.

Suddenly, a ringtone echoed through the valley.

The sound was jarring, almost obscene out here in the wilderness. I flinched, half expecting someone to yell for me to show myself.

Mr. Knox put his phone on speaker and set it between them.

The conversation was muffled, just a series of indistinct words and soft laughter. Aubrey’s expression changed—she covered her mouth, eyes bright with tears.

I couldn’t make out what was said, but I saw Aubrey burst into tears of joy.

She pressed her fists to her mouth, shoulders shaking. I wanted to believe it was happiness, but it felt more like relief—like someone finally letting go after holding on too long.

Mr. Knox set down the phone and waited for Aubrey to calm herself.

He just watched, impassive, patient. As if this was something he saw every day.

Aubrey wiped her tears, unzipped her backpack, and took out a colorful little box.

She held it close, turning it over in her hands. The colors caught the lantern light—pink, blue, gold. A present for a celebration? Or a payment?

Then she pulled open her shirt and threw herself onto Mr. Knox.

The move was sudden, desperate. She straddled him, her shirt slipping off one shoulder. For a second, I froze, embarrassed and fascinated at once.

Pink bra, white stockings—I was stunned.

I had to bite my fist to keep from making a sound. The whole world felt like it had stopped spinning.

She hadn’t been like this during the day.

The Aubrey I’d met had been bubbly and shy. This was something else—something practiced, maybe, or just desperate.