The tent was opulent enough to forget it had any business calling itself "outdoorsy." Billowing white fabric walls trapped the afternoon sunlight and softened it into something warm and golden, like the world had been filtered through expensive champagne. At the center of it all, Eliana lay sprawled across a king-sized bed, wrapped in silk sheets so smooth they felt vaguely illegal for a supposed wilderness retreat.
Three hours had vanished since they'd arrived—three blessed, uninterrupted hours of sleep. The kind that didn't come with dreams or guilt or sudden jolts of anxiety. The mountain air drifted in through discreet vents, carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers, nature carefully curated and piped in like background music. Peaceful. Convincing. Almost believable.
