Prologue
There’s a place you can go when everything’s too much. A place where the air tastes like dust, the sky is thick with heat, and nothing ever feels quite real.
I never thought I’d find myself here again. But the valley pulls you back. I didn’t have a choice.
People don’t talk much about Death Valley. There’s a reason for that. You learn not to speak about the bad things, the things that make you want to forget. The air is heavy with the kind of silence that swallows all the stories no one wants to tell. You don’t want to be here. And if you are, you never stay long enough to talk about it.
When I was younger, my friends and I would dare each other to go deeper, past the places that were just barren land and heat. We’d laugh and pretend it was all a game. But I remember the days it wasn’t. The times when the valley made you feel small, like it was closing in on you.
It wasn’t the heat or the wild winds that made it feel alive. It was the stillness. The way the land holds onto its secrets. And if you stick around too long, you start feeling like one of those secrets, waiting to be swallowed whole.
But now, as I drive toward the cabin, I can’t shake the feeling that this time is different. The heat is heavier, the wind more constant. The valley’s been quiet for a while, but there’s something under the surface. Something I can’t quite put into words.
I grip the wheel harder, and with a dry laugh, I say to myself, “Well, if I’m gonna die here... it’s gonna be on my terms.”
