Page 76 of 10 Days to Ruin

Sasha, not breaking stride: “Squirrel. Keep moving.”

Mile 1.0:Collapsing onto a rock:“I require hydration. And a pedicure. Not necessarily in that order.”

Sasha tosses me a canteen. “Drink.”

I take a sip and choke for real. “Is thisvodka?!”

But it doesn’t take long for fake misery to become very, very real.

By mile three, my thighs are screaming. My Juicy Couture fanny pack digs into my ribs, and the edible glitter on my cleavage has fused with sweat into a dystopian shimmer.

Meanwhile, Sasha shows no signs of cracking.

Time to ramp things up.

“Wait!” I trudge to where he’s paused at a fork in the trail. The map I printed off Google—then spilled kombucha on—flutters in my grip. “We need to… uh… go left.”

He arches a brow. “Left leads to a ravine.”

“Exactly! Best views!”

“And where does right take us?”

“Bear mating grounds. Very dangerous. Much growling.”

His lips twitch. “You’re holding the map upside down.”

Shit.I take off down the trail at breakneck pace. If I’m lucky, that’s exactly what will happen. Sasha curses under his breath and chases after me, but I call back over my shoulder, “It’s a… topographic inversion. Modern cartography is really innovating these days.”

The only reason he doesn’t grab my arm and drag me back to the main trail is because I’m dodging and weaving between trees and hanging vines. I’m grateful for the cover until, ten minutes later, we’re bushwhacking through underbrush so thick that even the mosquitos look pissed. My stilettos snap. My speaker dies mid-Single Ladies. Sasha’s shirt snags on a thorn and starts tearing at the hem, much like my sanity.

“This is your idea of a shortcut?” He swipes blood from a scratch on his jaw.

“Uh… YOLO?”

“YOLO,” he repeats flatly. “Is that Greek forI’m trying to get us killed?”

The sun dips behind the peaks, scorching the sky in ruddy streaks. My phone’s down to 2% battery. The ravine I swore would be breathtaking gapes below us, hungry and endless and filled mostly with dirt-covered rocks.

But when I turn around to pick up the proper trail again…

Oh.

Oh, no.

“We’re lost,” Sasha says, too calm.

“We’re… adventuring!”

“Ariel.”

“Exploring?”

He steps closer. Pine needles crunch under his boots like tiny bones. “Look at me.”

I don’t want to. His eyes will be icy. Disappointed. Terrifying.

But when I glance up, his gaze is… not that. On the contrary, it’s more, like… curious. Amused? “You did this on purpose,” he states flatly.

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