After dinner, Violette continued her evening stroll by the lake.

The rain hadn't started yet, but the air was thick, heavy with an oppressive humidity. Emma walked beside her, chatting about the gossip she’d picked up over dinner.

They passed the local medical station. Emma gestured toward it, saying, "They only have two exam rooms—one for general medicine, one for holistic. They share the same doctor. Everyone who comes here for a retreat gets told the same thing: they’re suffering from 'excess dampness' and need a herbal prescription to drain it out."

Violette chuckled. "Sounds like the doctor hasn't developed a backup script yet."

"What do you mean?" Emma asked.

"You’re just running too hot," Violette said, mimicking a stern voice. "You need to clear that heat."

They both burst into laughter.

As they walked past the sports complex, Emma sighed, "It’s been closed for maintenance. Rumor has it a pro team booked the whole place for training. Otherwise, we could’ve gotten in a workout. Hey, Mentor, do you think I could tone up my arms if I practiced lugging around Quinton's camera gear all day?"

Quinton, their producer, was built like a tank.

Violette squeezed the soft flesh of Emma’s forearm. "I suspect you’d be crushed."

Emma beamed, flashing a wide, toothy grin. "Mentor, I’m just going to take that as a compliment that I’m skinny!"

Mid-banter, Violette’s phone buzzed. She glanced down; it was a text from Roman, asking if she needed anything for her business trip.

Violette typed a quick "all set" and returned to her conversation with Emma. Still, a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She wondered, if she had asked for something, would he really have flown it out here himself?

By the time they finished their loop and returned to the resort, the rain began to fall in earnest.

The droplets were fat and aggressive, exploding like gray shrapnel against the pavement. Within minutes, the glass roof of the resort’s covered walkway rattled under a violent downpour. The rhythm was frantic, constant—a sign that they were in for a long, heavy storm.

With the humidity spiking, they both retreated to their rooms.

"So, Mentor," Emma asked, "what’s the plan for tomorrow?"

Violette checked the forecast. The rain was set to persist for days. She decided that if tomorrow brought another downpour, they’d prioritize the nearby sites; if it cleared up, they’d head to the two furthest locations. She floated the idea in their group chat, and the producer quickly agreed.

The next morning, the sky was a bruised, heavy gray, but the rain had paused.

Violette posted the schedule. They had two stops to make. Tessa, their local guide, led the way toward the spring water bottling plant and the private timberland located about 0.6 miles deep into the woods.

The plant manager was cooperative, opening his ledgers for them to film. The investment into the tourism project accounted for a significant portion of the budget, and everyone was eager to see the joint venture succeed. It wasn't just the private companies putting up capital—even the local government had tied their development targets for the next few years to this project.

With momentum on their side, the work over the next few days went smoothly.

The rain, however, was relentless. It stopped for a single day, then settled back into a steady, suffocating drizzle.

Violette was halfway up a nearby mountain with her crew when her father, Charles, texted to warn her that a severe storm alert had been issued for the city.

She replied: *We're fine. We’re ahead of schedule.*

The only thing left to film was the source of the mineral water. The factory was built about 0.6 miles from the actual spring, serving as the first stage for purification and assembly. Violette had hoped to wait for a clearer day, but Tessa had already cleared the time with the manager, and this was his only opening.

The facility was quiet, almost entirely automated. The few technicians on-site usually moved at a leisurely, slouching pace, only straightening their posture and pretending to tinker with the machinery when they caught the camera crew passing by. As soon as the lens turned away, they’d slump back into their comfortable, indifferent routine.

Workers everywhere just trying to get by, she thought.

They wrapped up the shoot after capturing a few solid takes, and Emma finished her interview with the manager. The group headed back down the mountain.

Halfway down, however, the digital voice recorder went missing.

Emma frantically rummaged through her backpack. "That’s not right. I put it in this pocket and zipped it shut. Where could it have gone?"

Just then, Tessa’s phone rang. It was the plant manager, saying they’d found something that looked like an MP3 player.

Emma slapped her forehead. "The recorder!"

They were less than two miles from the hotel. Violette decided not to make the whole crew turn back; the equipment was heavy, and Quinton had been lugging it all day. She told Emma to head back with Quinton to start the edits, while she and Tessa doubled back.

On the return drive up the mountain, the rain took a brief hiatus.

Tessa joked about whether this was the calm before the storm. The summit ahead was choked with thick, ink-black clouds. Violette looked up at the sky and asked, "If the storm hits, should we wait it out at the plant?"

"We'll see," Tessa said. "Usually it doesn't turn that quickly."

The day they arrived, the rain had threatened for hours before actually breaking. Violette didn't push it, hoping they could just grab the recorder and make a quick getaway.

Luck, however, had run out.

They were barely a few miles from the plant when the storm slammed into them. The rain hit the windshield with the force of gravel. Tessa cranked the wipers to their highest setting, but the road ahead was a blur. She gripped the wheel, her knuckles white, squinting through the shifting curtains of water.

The mountain road was treacherous, full of hairpin turns and blind curves.

"Maybe we should head back to the plant and wait?" Violette suggested.

Tessa nodded, agreeing it was the only safe option. She went to make a three-point turn, but the narrow road and poor visibility made it a nightmare. Outside, the world was nothing but the roar of a deluge.

Tessa grabbed a poncho from the backseat and threw it over her head. "Violette, you take the wheel. I’ll get out and guide you."

The road was barely wide enough for two lanes; it would take several tight maneuvers. Violette slid across to the driver’s seat, taking hold of the steering wheel. "Got it."

They cracked the windows just enough to communicate, the rain spraying in, biting against their skin. Violette zipped up her waterproof jacket—a gift from Roman—and pulled the collar up to shield her face.

Above the deafening rattle of the rain, she heard Tessa’s voice, strained and shouting from the shoulder. "Keep coming! Keep going! Stop! Okay, back it up! Right there, again!"

It was Violette’s first time backing up with zero visibility.

Just as the car finally straightened out and she reached for the handbrake to switch back to the passenger seat, a muffled, grinding roar echoed from the hillside.

Violette instinctively leaned out to check on Tessa.

The blurred figure in the rain froze for a heartbeat, then suddenly bolted, running as if her life depended on it. A gust of mountain wind tore through the open door, followed by a violent slam as Tessa dived back into the car, drenching the interior in water and mud.

Violette wiped the stinging rain from her eyes, only to see Tessa scramble into the passenger seat, her face ghostly white, screaming "Fuck!" over and over again.

Tessa pounded the dashboard, her legs shaking uncontrollably.

"F-fuck, move! Now! The mountain is giving way!"