My stomach drops. The cinnamon roll turns to lead.
I click on the most recent email from Dean Reynolds. The subject line is in all caps:
IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED.
Dr. Thorne,
Per our previous correspondence, your failure to complete the scheduled Friday check-in, followed by six days of unexplained radio silence, constitutes a breach of the safety and compliance protocols outlined in your grant agreement. As of this morning, the University Oversight Committee has placed a temporary freeze on your funding disbursement. Unless you can provide immediate, verified data proving the viability of the project and a satisfactory explanation for the communication blackout within 48 hours, the expedition will be formally recalled.
Regards,
Dean Reynolds
I stare at the screen. Forty-eight hours. That was sent yesterday morning.
"Bad news?"
I jump. Nash is standing behind the sofa.
"They froze the funds," I whisper. "He actually did it."
Nash walks around the sofa and sits down next to me. He reads the email over my shoulder.
"Forty-eight hours," he reads. "Sent yesterday at 9:00 a.m. You have until tomorrow morning."
"I have to send the data," I say, my fingers flying across the trackpad. "I have to upload the GPS tracks, the photos, the behavioral logs. If I can show them what we found, the adaptive feeding, the predator avoidance strategy, they can't cancel it."
"Can you upload it from here?"
"The connection is too slow for the raw files," I say, watching the Wi-Fi icon struggle. "It's satellite internet. It'll take days to upload the high-res images. I need fiber optic. I need the university server."
I look up at Nash. "I have to go to Fairbanks. Now."
Nash looks at the clock on the wall. "The last flight out of Port Promise was at noon, and Hank's done for the day."
"Then I have to go tomorrow morning," I say. "First flight. If I can get to the campus before nine, I can upload everything directly to the mainframe. Over the fiber line, I can walk into Reynolds's office with the data already in hand."
"Tomorrow," Nash repeats.
The word hangs between us, heavy and final.
"I can't lose this, Nash," I say, pleading with him to understand. "It's not just the job. It's the promise. We did the hard part. We survived the climb. I can't let a bureaucrat kill it because of a bad internet connection."
"I know," Nash says. He reaches out and covers my hand on the keyboard. His skin is warm, rough, reassuring. "I know.We'll get you on the plane. Hank owes me a favor; he'll fly you out at first light."
"Thank you."
"But tonight," Nash says, standing up and pulling me with him. "Tonight, you are not Dr. Thorne, the panicked academic. You are Aris. And you need a shower."
He leads me toward the hallway. "Go. Get clean. I'll talk to Finn about the plane."
I walk into the guest bathroom, the luxury of tile and porcelain feeling alien, and turn on the shower. When I look in the mirror, I stop.
The woman staring back at me is a stranger. Her hair is matted with sweat and pine needles. Her face is thin, the cheekbones sharper than I remember. There's a dark bruise on her jaw and a scrape across her cheek. Her eyes are wide, dark, and fierce.
Whoever she is, she's no tenure-track professor. She looks like someone who clawed her way up a mountain while being hunted by wolves.
I touch the glass.You changed,I tell my reflection.You adapted.
