Bram Kinsey tracked the chaotic whirlwind that was Tansy Larch, then glanced back toward Marenka Voss, still precariously perched on the crumbling ledge. His frustration, a slow burn moments ago, now felt like a full-blown brushfire. He hadn’t even finished processing the woman who tried to placate a wild predator with a pie chart when this other force of nature arrived, oblivious to the canyon yawning at her heels. “Tansy, get back from the edge!” he roared, his voice cutting through her joyful pronouncements about fungal fortunes. “And put that thing down before you trip!” Tansy, unfazed, merely pivoted on her heel, almost losing her balance, the frying pan clanging against the prize tuber. “Oh! Right, the… *edge*. Hi, Bram! Who’s your new friend? She looks like she just escaped a really fancy hostage situation.” She finally noticed Marenka, who was still evaluating their predicament with an unsettling, detached calm. Bram sighed, running a hand over his face. “She’s a client. Or was. I don’t know anymore.” He turned back to Marenka, who had started to meticulously brush dust from her impeccably tailored trousers. “Can you move? We need to get you off this ledge before it gives way completely.” Marenka looked from the fracturing rock face to Bram, then back to the rock face, as if calculating the exact moment of its structural failure. “The probability of complete collapse within the next 8.7 seconds is approximately 73.2%,” she stated, her voice even. “I can initiate egress sequence on your command.” Bram just stared. Tansy, meanwhile, had hopped down from the thicket, the truffle now tucked into a pouch on her hip, and was already digging through a battered backpack, pulling out an assortment of herbs and spices. “Egress sequence, I love it! So efficient! Is that boardroom speak for ‘walking’?” “It’s boardroom lingo for ‘I have no idea what’s happening but I’m going to sound smart about it’,” Bram muttered under his breath. He swung his rope over to a more stable anchor point, secured it, then rappelled down to Marenka’s level. “Alright, Marenka. Grab hold of my harness. We’re going to climb up. Don’t look down.” Her grip on his harness was remarkably firm, though her movements were stiff, almost robotic. He could feel the slight tremor in her arms as he hauled them both up. Once they were on solid ground, a wider, less treacherous path, Tansy was already setting up a small portable stove, the aroma of garlic and something vaguely mushroom-like already wafting through the air. “My cabin isn’t far,” Bram said, gesturing deeper into the winding path. “We can get you properly situated there. And Tansy, maybe hold off on cooking until we’re somewhere with four walls.” “Nonsense!” Tansy chirped, tossing a handful of shredded greens into her sizzling pan. “The peaks are the best kitchen! And Marenka looks like she could use a good, hearty meal. You’re pale, hon. Like a spreadsheet that’s been left in the sun.” Marenka, ignoring Tansy’s assessment, looked at Bram’s outstretched hand. Her face, usually a mask of controlled composure, showed a flicker of something unreadable. He noticed the faint red marks across her cheek where the wolf-dog had grazed her, and the dust clinging to her otherwise immaculate hair. He felt a strange pull, a desire to smooth the disarray. His cabin was less a cabin and more a triumph of engineering against the wilderness. Tucked into a natural rock overhang, it was a sleek, minimalist structure of polished metal and reinforced glass, powered by discreet solar panels and equipped with a satellite uplink. Inside, it was warm, dry, and smelled faintly of pine and old leather. He kept it stocked for long patrols, a hidden base for his more challenging expeditions. “Water’s in the purification unit,” Bram said, gesturing to a gleaming steel dispenser. “There’s a first-aid kit in the wall panel, next to the comms unit.” He studied Marenka as she moved, her posture still unnervingly precise, even as she limped slightly. “Your boots look like they’ve seen better days. Let’s get those off.” Marenka hesitated, then nodded. She sat on the edge of a cot, her movements stiff. When she pulled off her first boot, a small, pained gasp escaped her lips, quickly suppressed. The sock beneath was damp and clung to her foot, and when she peeled it back, a series of nasty, raw blisters were visible, angry red against her pale skin. “You should have said something,” Bram grumbled, kneeling before her. He carefully took her foot in his calloused hand. It was delicate, surprisingly small, and felt fragile beneath his touch. He retrieved the first-aid kit, pulling out antiseptic wipes and hydrocolloid bandages. As he worked, gently cleaning and dressing the wounds, he could feel her slight flinches, though she made no sound. He worked slowly, meticulously, conscious of the subtle trembling in her leg and the slight pause in her respiration. He felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in a long time – a protective instinct, an unexpected tenderness. He looked up, catching her eye. Her gaze was intense, analytical, but for a fleeting moment, something else was there, a raw vulnerability that she quickly shuttered away. “My vitals are within acceptable parameters,” she stated, pulling her foot back as he finished, her voice a little too steady. “The elevated heart rate is likely due to the recent exertion and altitude acclimation. Not… discomfort.” Bram just grunted, suppressing a wry smile. She had a way of dissecting every human experience into a data point. It was infuriating, and yet, he found himself utterly captivated by the sheer absurdity of it. He lingered on her for a moment longer, noting the faint flush on her cheeks, the way her dark hair framed her face, still dusted with the wildness of the peaks. She was beautiful, in a rigid, impossible way, like a perfectly rendered architectural blueprint. Outside, Tansy had already set up her portable cooking station on the cabin’s small porch, the savory scent of stir-fried vegetables and truffle oil filling the air. “Dinner’s ready, folks! Bram, you need to try this truffle! It’s going to make my ‘Kovalen Kitchen Cart’ the most famous eatery in the city! Forget Apex Dynamics, everyone will want a bite of Tansy’s Truffle Tacos!” Bram shook his head, a genuine smile finally breaking through his exasperation. He joined Tansy on the porch, accepting a plate of her surprisingly delicious-smelling concoction. Marenka followed, moving with a noticeable, though still elegant, stiffness. She sat on a small stool, observing the food with an expression of clinical curiosity. As the last rays of sun dipped below the jagged peaks, casting long, purple shadows, Marenka excused herself to the cot. The day’s events, even for her, seemed to have taken their toll. Bram saw her drift off, her breathing even, her face finally relaxed, the ruthless strategist momentarily replaced by a semblance of peace. He found himself sketching in his worn leather notebook, a habit he’d had since he was a kid, capturing the contours of the peaks, the unique flora, sometimes even the peculiar clients. Tonight, his pencil traced the delicate curve of Marenka’s jaw, the slight pout of her lips, the way her lashes fanned against her cheek. It was a tender, unguarded portrait, a side of her he doubted anyone else had ever seen. He closed the notebook, tucking it beneath a stack of maps near his bed roll. The cabin was quiet save for the gentle hum of the ventilation system. He drifted off, the image of her sleeping face lingering in his mind. He woke abruptly to a clatter. Marenka was up, moving silently around the small cabin. She’d apparently reached for something on the shelf above his bed roll and, in doing so, dislodged his notebook. It lay open on the floor, directly at the page with her sketch. She picked it up, her brow lifting faintly as she took in the drawing. Her gaze fixed on the image, a silent, unreadable emotion passing over her face. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, her usual composure returned, even stronger than before. She snapped the notebook shut and placed it carefully back on the stack of maps. Before Bram could even process the encounter, a shrill, piercing shriek ripped through the cabin’s quiet. Marenka froze, her hand flying to her hip, where a sleek, black device, no bigger than a credit card, vibrated violently. Its small, embedded screen, previously dark, now glowed with an aggressive, pulsing red light. It wasn’t just vibrating; it was screaming, a high-frequency corporate override signal. Marenka stared at it, a flicker of genuine shock in her eyes. “This… this shouldn’t be possible. It was deactivated. Destroyed.” Bram was out of his bed roll in an instant, crossing the small space to her. He recognized the device – a satellite pager, heavily modified, usually reserved for Apex Dynamics’ most senior executives. He saw the text scrolling across the screen, sharp and unyielding, framed by the flashing red. He read the words and a cold knot tightened in his stomach. He looked at Marenka, his gaze hardening. “They didn’t just fire you, Marenka. The police are looking for you.”

Optimizing the Wilderness