He has been in an eternal pissy mood ever since they arrived, and hiking seemed to rile him up into an even pissier mood.

Come to think of it, they were all pissy.

Except for Greg, he was actually decent. He pulled out his phone to show them an offline YouTube video about setting up their tents.

By nightfall, they were all set up and sitting around a decent fire.

River cooked and served them their food with hot drinks once they were done setting up. Their mood settling into a begrudging quiet as they ate.

Killian held his food with his elbows resting on his knees, watching the fire, "You freaking lose one bet." he said in a dry tone, prompting a massive heated debate between the three of them.

Between the shouting, she took one deep calming breath, ducking her head down to observe her food. It was salty and full of preservatives and it left her feeling more impatient. Working as a co-blogger to an experimental gourmet blog with her roommates had allowed her to explore the most gratifying gourmet trips of culinary culture the world has to offer. However, the boiled canned food in her hands only served as a reminder of how she used to live back then when she was growing up in the farm. It sent her back to a time, long ago when she used to be a little kid and all that she had ever wanted was for her grandfather to raise her as a boy so that her parents would realize their mistake. It used to be a fantasy of hers; having them come to take her back to the city right where she belonged in a proper family with a mom and dad.

River looked up to her little brother engaged in a heated debate, not really hearing them. She watched him in detail, cataloguing their familial resemblance and how different they were from each other. She couldn't help but wish briefly that it should be her that their parents had decided to raise, and it should be him that ought to have been raised by their grandparents.

Chastising words came forth to her from Dr. Malia. There wasn't anything that she could do to help being abandoned by her parents. But still, a bitter fire singed through her veins, giving her doubts. What if she had done well enough to become an impressive child with all accolades and praise, would her parents changed their mind and loved her instead?

If Dr. Malia can see what she was doing right now with her brother, she would be making a field day out of this. I see you have finally taken up my suggestion to set up boundaries, she could already hear her say in a tone dripping with irony.

But then, inside her head, an urgent thought assaulted her, "Help!" it said, making her ears ring. The thought had come to her but the voice didn't sound familiar. It sounded rough and gritty like someone was in terrible pain.

She released a long breath that sounded as though it had been held for ages. Hearing unfamiliar voices in her head must be a sign that she was entering a whole new level of stress.

Guess it's time to retire early for sleep, she thought. Once she was inside the tent, she began changing into her strappy nightgown filled with mesh and lace. Ornate nightgowns always had this comforting power to relax her into a lull of sleep. Its shimmery fabric was pearlescent pink in color and soft to the touch.

Growing up, her grandmother would coerce her from tear-stained farm clothes into wearing a nightgown every night. It was her own way of showing affection, and it made her feel loved more than anything else. As she grew older, the trunks of nightgowns she gifted her got more luxurious, soft, and feminine. The memory of her grandmother was the reason why she could never sleep without it, even if the jungle was a slightly inappropriate place to wear it. It gave her a wonderful reminder that even though things got really bad, at the end of the day, she was loved. Even for a little bit.

An intrusive thought assaulted her again, "Help!" it said, then the repeating words garbled into distortion. She could have sworn it sounded like Spanish, Chinese, Russian, and it all held the same meaning. Someone was asking for help.

She poked her head out the tent to address the boys, "Did you hear that?"

Over their red-faced hissing and shouting, they weren't able to hear her.

Once more, a piercing cry for help sounded inside her head, this time shaking her entire skull into a thunderous vibration. Whispers of the wind were rushing over her skin, wrapping every inch of her in a cold embrace. With the chill too much to bear, she closed her tent and burrowed inside her sleeping bag for warmth.

The shouting died down, and she heard them retiring to their tents. The echoes of the jungle at night intensifying as nocturnal animals grew emboldened by the shadows, its dark music letting her relax in a curling huddle inside her tent. But even so, her mind worked like an electric livewire, not letting her get some peace while at the same time her exhausted body was drained from the day.