I stare up at the hemlock-spruces that line the road, nose pressed against the cool glass, and murmur, “I’m good.”
The thing about this place is: the farther north we push, the more beautiful it gets. Dramatic. A little mysterious. Lush and rich. I spot a million shades of green. Everything towers. Endless jutting trees, spongy moss, water flowing always, everywhere, vibrant and otherworldly and so alive, it makes me feel alive, too.
“You’re lots of things, and good is not one of them.”
I glance at Koen, who’s not unlike the landscape: outdoorsy and remote and moody. Wild and overcast. “Must be nice,” I muse.
“What?”
“Being you. Knowing everything.”
“It is, yeah,” he agrees.
“Any other unfulfilled strata in my pyramid of need that I should know about?”
“You’re sleep deprived. A lit
