Page 1 of The Hotshot’s Prize (Praise Me Like Fire #2)

Ella

It’s barely eight a.m., and sweat is already running down my spine. The sun’s been up for less than an hour, but it’s hitting me with full force, bouncing off the red rock like it’s got something to prove. Arizona doesn’t play around.

Still, I wouldn’t trade this for anything.

I crouch beside a low bush, my camera in hand, fingers feathering along the zoom as I spot movement in the scrub about twenty yards away. A curve-billed thrasher flits between branches, its long tail flicking like it’s scolding me for watching. I snap three shots before it disappears.

“Gotcha,” I murmur, my lips stretching out in a pleased smile.

This is the good stuff. The quiet, the waiting, the thrill of a good find. Out here, it’s just me, the wildlife, and a camera that’s seen more of the world than most people I know.

I reach for my water bottle and take a long drag.

The Grand Canyon stretches in front of me in layered shades of rust and gold, jagged as if a god took a cleaver to the earth.

It’s day one of my fieldwork here, and I’ve already clocked five species I hadn’t expected to see until week two.

If I keep this up, my conservation piece might actually blow some minds.

Or at least get me out of the unpaid intern zone.

My phone buzzes and I fetch it from the side pocket of my hiking vest, glancing down at the screen with a smile.

Tessa.

“Hey, nerd,” I answer, tucking the phone under my chin as I adjust my camera lens.

“Rude!” Tessa says brightly. “I’m doing actual work in an actual office, thank you very much.”

“Uh-huh. Sitting in a folding chair and answering emails?”

She lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Excuse you, I am coordinating permits, organizing press contacts, and creating our social media calendar while drinking the worst office coffee known to mankind. I’m suffering for this job.”

“True,” I say with a grin. “The suffering is noble.”

Tessa and I have been best friends since college, which isn’t saying much seeing as we’ve only just graduated, but she’s the kind of person you cling to like a life raft.

She’s my rock, my cheerleader, and currently the field program coordinator for our wildlife research nonprofit.

Basically, I get to do the fun part while she handles the headaches.

“So?” she continues. “Is it everything you dreamed? See any canyon critters yet? Please tell me you found a squirrel in a cowboy hat or something majestic like that.”

I laugh. “No rodents with accessories, sadly. But I did spot a green-tailed towhee and a whole family of kestrels. I’m off-trail near a shallow ravine right now. The light’s incredible.”

“Ugh, I’m officially jealous. If I see one more spreadsheet, I’m setting the printer on fire.”

“Please don’t. I need those grant forms.”

“Fine,” she huffs. “But only because I love you. Are you pacing yourself?”

I hesitate.

“No,” she answers for me. “You’re not. I can hear it in your voice. You sound all hyped up and twitchy.”

“I’m just excited. This is the biggest assignment I’ve ever had, Tess.”

“I know. And you’re killing it already.” Her voice softens. “But seriously, El, breathe. You don’t have to prove anything. You already deserve to be there.”

I glance toward the horizon. The clouds are thicker than they were an hour ago, swelling over the canyon’s edge like slow, heavy smoke. A breeze picks up, rustling the sagebrush.

“I know,” I say. “I just…sometimes I feel like a fraud. Like they’re going to realize they picked the wrong girl, and I’m gonna get yanked off the project for being too young or too anxious or too…me.”

Tessa sighs softly. “You’ve got this. You worked your ass off to be here, remember? Even when your professor told you wildlife photography was ‘impractical.’ You didn’t quit.”

I swallow. “Yeah.”

“You belong out there, El. Right in the thick of it. You’re brave as hell, girl.”

I close my eyes for a second, letting her words sink in. I want to believe them.

And I do believe her…Tessa never says things just to say them.

But that part of me that second-guesses everything is whispering in the background.

What if I screw this up? What if I don’t get the shots I need?

What if I get caught in a storm and end up on the evening news as “That Dumb Girl Who Got Lost in the Canyon”?

Another gust of wind makes my ponytail dance, and I glance up. The sky’s darker now, a rumble of thunder echoing faintly in the distance. Time to wrap this up. It’s a long hike back to my car, and the terrain gets slippery when it rains.

“Tess, I need to get moving. Storm’s rolling in.”

“Okay. Be safe. Text me when you’re back, or I’m calling a ranger.”

“Will do. Thanks, T.”

“Always. Go kick ass.”

I’m about to hang up when I hear a faint flutter, like silk brushing against stone.

I freeze, slowly glancing up, and there in the upper branches of a juniper tree, are two Mexican spotted owls. I blink twice to make sure I’m not imagining it.

No, I’m not.

There’s no mistaking those mottled feathers, dark eyes, and stocky bodies.

A pair.

Together.

“Oh my god,” I whisper, my heart racing with excitement.

This could be it. The game changer. This species is threatened—seeing one is rare enough, but two? Together? Nesting? This could be the hook for my whole piece.

“El?” Tessa calls, her voice crackling in my ear. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I gotta go,” I say, keeping my voice low.

“What? Wait, is everything okay—?”

“I found something. I’ll explain later.”

I hang up and drop to one knee, camera rising instinctively to my face. Rain or no rain, I’m not leaving until I get this shot.

The owls shift on the branch, one of them fluffing its feathers like it’s posing for me. My breath catches. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Carefully, I inch forward. There’s a shallow ridge to my left that might give me a better angle—the tree’s halfway down the slope, and the needles are blocking my line of sight. But if I lean out just a bit further…

I set my camera to silent mode and hold it against my chest as I creep toward the ridge.

Every step kicks up red dust and tiny pebbles that skitter down the incline.

My boots slip a little, but I catch myself just in time.

I crouch, twist my body for the angle, and raise the lens, taking shots in rapid succession.

Click. Click. Click.

A thrill pulses through me. This is gold. Conservation magazines. Wildlife sites. Maybe even a feature in Wilderness Now. I can practically hear the headlines. I can already see—

A low crunching sound interrupts my thoughts. I freeze as the rock under my right foot vibrates, then shifts. And before I can react, the whole thing suddenly gives way.

I scream.

I’m sliding against rocks, dirt, and dust, my limbs scrambling for anything to grab onto. My camera slams against my chest, and I throw out a hand, catching the edge of a scrubby bush. It slows me down for half a second, but the momentum drags me further until I tumble off the ridge entirely.

I slam down hard onto a lower ledge, the impact jolting my teeth together. Pain explodes in my ankle.

For a moment, I don’t move. Can’t move. I just lie still, my heart pounding out of rhythm.

Then the silence hits me, and I blink up at the empty sky.

I’m still here.

Still breathing.

“Okay,” I whisper shakily. “Okay. Okay. Okay.”

My voice echoes against the canyon walls.

Slowly, I sit up. The ledge is maybe three feet wide. The drop below it is…a lot more than that. My bag’s still up top. My phone, water, everything. I look up, and my stomach drops. The slope above me is nearly vertical, the rocks loose and crumbling.

There’s no way I’m climbing that.

No way out.

As the realization of my situation dawns on me, my chest clams up with a familiar anxiety.

My hands start to shake, my breath coming fast and shallow.

I try to slow it down, but I can’t. It’s like all the air has been sucked out of the world and replaced with a strangling darkness.

My vision starts to blur, and I can’t stop my hands from trembling.

“Stop,” I whisper. “Not now. Please.”

I can’t afford a panic attack right now.

I wrap my arms around my knees and try to press them tight, try to make myself smaller, safer, less exposed. But the fear is rising anyway, clawing up my throat like a scream I can’t swallow.

“Help!” I cry out, but my voice is hoarse. It comes out thin. Pathetic. Swallowed up by the canyon’s endless silence.

I try again, louder this time.

“Help! Somebody! I’m down here!”

Nothing.

I twist my neck, desperate to catch a glimpse of my backpack. It’s still there, above me, like a cruel little dot against the ledge. My phone is in the side pocket. Tessa’s probably still waiting for my text. She’ll worry eventually. But how long will that take?

Minutes?

Hours?

Tears sting my eyes.

No one knows exactly where I am. I didn’t tell Tessa what direction I was heading. Didn’t check in with the ranger station. I was so caught up in the owls, in the moment, in proving myself.

Stupid.

I’m so stupid.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the panic to stop clawing at my throat.

You’re okay. You’re okay. You’ve handled worse.

But the truth is…I haven’t.

I’ve never been this alone. This terrified.

Is this how my life ends? I haven’t even lived.

Tears finally spill over, hot and silent. I drop my head to my knees, squeezing my arms tighter around myself.

“Please…” I mutter under my breath. “Let someone find me. Please.”

I just have to hope I’m not the only one crazy enough to be out here right before a storm.