I open my eyes and see three figures moving along the trail toward me: bright ranger jackets against all the greens and browns. Gladys leads the way with that determined stride that suggests she can and will walk through obstacles rather than around them.
I straighten automatically, mug in hand.
“Morning, Elias,” she calls when she’s close enough. Her breath huffs visibly from her mouth in little clouds. “I see the shack hasn’t fallen on your head. Disappointing. Would have made a good cautionary tale for the interns.”
“Morning, Gladys,” I say, smiling in spite of myself. “Give it time. Roof still has ambitions.”
She snorts.
The taller of the two junior rangers pushes his hat up, revealing dark hair and a face I vaguely recognize from last year. His name bubbles up from the back of my brain.
“Sam, right?” I say.
His eyes light up. “Youdoremember me.”
“Of course.” I absolutely did not until five seconds ago. “West ridge trail? You almost lost a shovel down a ravine.”
His face flushes a little, but he laughs. “Hey, the ravine started it.”
The other ranger is new—shorter, freckled, and absolutely radiating “please don’t ask me anything” energy.
“This is Jonah,” Gladys says. “First season. He’s still under the illusion that this job is glamorous.”
Jonah gives me a shy, nervous smile. “Hi, Dr. Hart. I read your paper on the adaptive corridor modeling for elk migration. It was… um… really cool.”
My heart does a little embarrassing skip. “Oh. Wow. Thanks, Jonah. You just made the ten years of grant applications almost worth it.”
Gladys thrusts a clipboard at me like a weapon. “Before you start signing autographs, quick update. Access zones, trail warnings, the usual.”
I take the clipboard. The paperwork is standard—permitted research areas, flagged dangerous zones, notes about winter storm damage, sections of trail closed due to washouts. My eyes skim over the map, already overlaying it with my own priorities.
Perimeter walk. Camera trap near Cedar Ridge. Soil sensor by the old cedar stand. And, if I can swing it before the afternoon, the microclimate station on the north-facing slope that I am unreasonably excited to see survived.
“Does everything look right?” Gladys asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll stick to these boundaries. I’ll radio if I see anything weird.”
“You will,” she says dryly. “You always do.”
“Hey!”
She quirks one eyebrow—the kind of look that could make a mountain apologize—and turns slightly to her rangers. “Sam, Jonah, we’ve got trail surveys and a fallen tree to clear near the main loop. Try not to injure yourselves in front of the scientist. I’d hate for him to document that.”
Sam doesn’t move right away. He shifts his weight, looking at me instead of Gladys.
“So, uh, Dr. Hart?—”
“Elias,” I cut in automatically. “Please.”
“Elias,” he says, a little too warmly. “If you, you know, need an extra pair of hands for your perimeter check or whatever—someone to carry equipment or keep watch for cougars—” He grins. “I charge very reasonable rates. Just, like, one coffee and maybe your phone number.”
I turn his offer over in my mind. My brain is already halfway into a mental checklist of batteries, SD cards, fresh markers, and whether I brought enough flagging tape.
“Phone number,” I echo, nodding. “Right. Yeah, that’s probably a good idea for field safety coordination. Shared contact info. Good thinking.”
Gladys makes a noise suspiciously like a smothered groan.
Sam chuckles, a little strangled. “Yeah. Safety. Exactly.”