Chapter 7

The blast of refrigerated air inside the South Ridge Public Library hit Haven's sweat-drenched skin, making her shiver violently.

She walked past the rows of dusty encyclopedias and sat down at one of the three public computer terminals. The keyboard was sticky, and the monitor flickered with a faint yellow tint.

Haven pulled out her phone and connected it to the computer via a frayed USB cable.

She opened the browser and logged into the Shopify account she had created the night before. She named the store "Appalachian Pure."

She uploaded the photos she had taken in the forest that morning. Using a free, browser-based photo editor, she darkened the shadows and increased the contrast. The golden chanterelles popped against the dark, damp earth, looking less like food and more like rare jewels.

For the product description, she didn't write about South Ridge. She typed: Hand-foraged before dawn in the untouched depths of the Appalachian mountains. Sustainable. Wild. Pure.

She set the price at $120 per pound for the chanterelles, and $180 for the morels. Triple the market rate.

Next, she opened TikTok on her phone.

She had recorded three short clips in the woods. She stitched them together. The video had no music, just the raw ASMR audio: the crunch of her boots on wet leaves, the sharp, satisfying snick of her knife slicing through the mushroom stem, and the soft rustle of the bamboo basket.

She added the text overlay: What a $500 morning looks like.

She tagged it Foraging, MichelinStar, and FarmToTable.

She hit post.

Haven logged out, unplugged her phone, and walked out of the library. She stopped at the hardware store, spending her last twenty dollars on a heavy-duty steel deadbolt.

When she got home, she spent an hour unscrewing the ruined lock and installing the new one, the metal screws biting deep into the wood frame.

By the time the sun set, her muscles were screaming.

She sat on her bed, staring at her phone screen. The TikTok video had exactly fourteen views. Zero likes.

A cold knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach. If she didn't sell these mushrooms by tomorrow, they would start to rot. The money she spent on the lock would be gone. They would have nothing.

She threw the phone face down on her mattress and rubbed her burning eyes.

Stop, she told herself. The algorithm takes time.

She walked into the kitchen to help Brenda lay the slightly bruised mushrooms onto a mesh screen for drying. They worked in silence, the rhythmic motion calming Haven's racing heart.

At 11:42 PM, Haven was lying in the dark, staring at the water stains on her ceiling.

Ding.

The sharp, cheerful notification sound from the Shopify app shattered the silence.

Haven's breath caught. She snatched the phone off her nightstand. The screen brightness seared her eyes.

New Order: 0001.

Total: $840.00.

Status: Paid.

Haven sat up so fast her head spun. She tapped the order details.

The buyer had purchased the entire inventory. The shipping address was a commercial kitchen on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. A three-star Michelin restaurant.

Before she could process the victory, her phone vibrated violently in her hand.

A cascade of TikTok notifications flooded the screen, scrolling so fast they blurred together.

@VeganEats liked your video.

@ChefLife commented: "The knife work is immaculate."

+99 followers.

A massive vegan influencer had stitched her video. The algorithm had caught fire.

Haven gripped the phone, her knuckles turning white. Her chest heaved, a massive, shuddering breath escaping her lips. She had done it.

Hundreds of miles away, in a sprawling, glass-walled mansion in the Hamptons, Delano Lindsey sat in a leather armchair. The room was dark, lit only by the glow of his smartphone.

He watched the 15-second video loop for the fifth time. He recognized the worn sleeve of the windbreaker. He recognized the precise, clinical slice of the knife.

Delano's thumb hovered over the screen. He tapped the heart icon. A slow, intrigued smile touched the corners of his mouth.