Until The Lake Remembers

Chapter 1 Ariel Froswyn sat slouched at her desk in a fifth-floor walk-up on the Lower East Side of New York. The single harsh glow of her laptop cut through the dimness of the cramped tenement room. Outside her window, heavy bass thumped from a basement club down the block, a metal fire escape rattled in the wind and distant sirens wailed across Houston Street, doing nothing to ease the pressure sitting heavy in her chest. Rent was due in two days, and her credit card bill was long overdue. The freelance checks she depended on barely covered the absolute essentials. Every missed deadline and every harsh revision request felt like another structural crack in the fragile life she was desperately trying to build on these gritty city blocks. “Froswyn!” Her heart jumped. Marcus Hale’s square, irritated face filled the Zoom window, his arms crossed and his tone sharp enough to cut through her exhaustion. “Marcus… I—” she began, but he raised a hand to silence her. “No. Stop. Look at this draft.” He jabbed a finger toward the camera. “Half the sources are missing, and the rest reads like a diary entry. Are you writing journalism or unloading your feelings?” Ariel’s throat tightened. “I checked the sources. I just wanted the piece to feel alive, something readers could connect to—” “Connect?” Marcus barked. “They don’t need to connect. They need facts. Accuracy. Deadlines. If you can’t handle that, maybe journalism isn’t for you.” The words stung because she feared he was right. She had been stretched thin for months, juggling three freelance jobs, sleeping four hours a night, and trying to claw her way into the industry from an aging apartment with a broken heater on the Lower East Side of New York. “I’ll fix it tonight,” she said quietly. Marcus exhaled, the sharp edge of his expression softening just slightly. “Good. I want the revision by morning. No excuses, Ariel. Understood?” “Yes, sir.” When the call ended, Ariel leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Her inbox was already full of overdue reminders for rent, utilities, and the software subscriptions she needed for work. Failure wasn’t an option, not when this was her only shot at becoming the journalist she had always dreamed of being. Deep down, she knew she was capable, which was why she forced herself to endure the hardship and keep pushing forward. By three in the morning, her fingers ached and her eyes felt raw, but the article was finished. She reviewed it, edited it, revised it one last time, and hit send. Exhaustion dragged her under the moment she leaned back. The next morning, her alarm shrieked like a cruel joke. Groaning, Ariel slapped it off. Her whole body ached, but at least the article was submitted. She brewed a cup of cheap coffee and opened her laptop. Marcus’s email pinged first in her notifications. She froze, her heart hammering against her ribs as she clicked it. Her eyes widened in shock. It wasn’t a rejection. It was a long list of notes, suggested edits, and at the very bottom: “Good work, Ariel. Keep pushing.” A breath escaped her chest, shaky but immensely relieved. For once, she hadn’t failed. She grabbed her coffee and did a little victory dance toward her window, pushing it open to let the crisp morning air pour into her kitchen. “Yes! Thank you!” she whispered, grinning as a neighbor glanced over curiously from the balcony next door. Later that afternoon, she dragged herself through the office doors and offered a small smile to a colleague. Marcus approached her desk, his expression unreadable, carrying a spark of something rare. “Ariel,” he said, dropping a thick folder onto her desk. “I’ve got an assignment for you. Something special.” He said it with a tone that made it sound like a dead end. She blinked. “Special?” Marcus snorted, letting out an awkward, sarcastic laugh that drew the attention of a few coworkers nearby. Ariel looked back and forth between Marcus and the rest of the office, completely confused. “Oh, trust me, special is one word for it,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “You’re not going to believe what our boss wants this time.” Ariel raised a brow, settling her things on the desk. “Should I be scared?” “Yes,” Marcus deadpanned. “Very. Because apparently, we are no longer covering standard metro news. The boss saw a scenic travel feature and decided we need a deep-dive human-interest piece.” He opened the folder dramatically, shaking his head. “He wants you to fly all the way to New Zealand, down to the isolated alpine valleys and lake stations around Lake Tekapo, to document the quiet, fading lives of the local high-country farmers and shepherds.” Ariel stared at Marcus and blinked twice. “You’re joking.” Marcus let out another short laugh. “God, I wish. But the boss wants a full-length feature on how these isolated communities survive away from the modern world, interviewing the locals who chose the mountains over the city grind.” “Since when do we cover rural lifestyle features, Marcus?” Ariel asked, incredulous. “Never,” Marcus said. “Because we cover hard news and urban grit. But apparently, the boss watched a nature documentary last night, fell in love with the scenery, and decided our readers need a heavy dose of pastoral peace.” Ariel blinked, speechless. What! Marcus sighed and handed her the folder. “Look, it is a completely unusual assignment. But it is also a huge opportunity. Big budget. Full travel coverage. And honestly?” He shrugged. “You are the only freelancer desperate enough to actually say yes.” Ariel’s breath stalled. New Zealand. A major assignment covering a remote alpine community. Yet doubt crept in immediately. Marcus’s words left a heavy ache in her chest. Yes, she was only a freelancer at the company, still an unseen name in the world of journalism, but she was sure of one thing: she would do the job right, and she was willing to learn in every way she could. “This is huge,” she whispered. “I hardly know where to start.” “That is the point,” Marcus said. “You fly tomorrow. Pack light. Camera, voice recorder, notebooks. I expect a solid draft in a week. This could define your career, even if the premise feels entirely out of left field.” “But Marcus… you know I have never done a deep-dive pastoral feature like this alone,” Ariel said quietly. Marcus took a deep breath, giving her a small, almost apologetic smile. “Ariel, the truth is that this assignment was given to you because no one else wanted to leave the city. The boss made a decision, and whether you like it or not, it is yours. Who knows? Maybe this is where you finally break through if you pull it off.” Ariel could not respond right away. She knew she had barely proven herself yet, but hearing it stated so plainly still stung. Her chest tightened, and all she could do was lower her head in silence. That evening, she sat in a small café near her apartment, stirring lukewarm coffee. Her best friend, Madeline, slid into the plastic seat across from her. “You look like someone just handed you a winning lottery ticket and a severe heart attack at the same time,” Madeline said. Ariel sighed, staring at her cup. “Marcus wants me to fly all the way to New Zealand. To document isolated high-country farmers and shepherds near Lake Tekapo. It sounds amazing, but… I don’t know. I can barely keep up with my rent deadlines here.” Madeline reached across the table and grabbed her hands. “Ariel. This is the opportunity you have been killing yourself for. You have been working nonstop in that cramped apartment, drowning in freelance gigs just to survive. This is not just a job. It is your break. Think of it as a working vacation in the mountains.” Ariel looked down at her coffee, watching the dark liquid swirl. Maybe she had been living in such deep fear of failing that she could not recognize an opening when it was right in front of her. “I am scared,” she admitted softly. “Everyone is,” Madeline said. “But you are Ariel Froswyn. You survive every single storm. This one? This is your chance to step into something much bigger.” Ariel let out a long breath, gave a slow nod, and took a small sip from her mug. Later that night, she picked up her phone and called Marcus. “I’ll do it,” she said, her voice steady. “I am going to New Zealand.” Marcus chuckled on the other end of the line. “Good. Just remember to capture the raw, quiet reality of those mountain stations. The boss wants a genuine human-interest feature, so make it count.” Ariel hung up the phone. Her worn-out suitcase waited quietly by her bed. The journey ahead was terrifying, absurdly distant from everything she knew, and completely surreal. But for the first time in a long time, she was ready to take the leap.