Civilization’s casting team came to the survival school, which was called Primal Instinct, to search for talent. They brought the instructors one by one into a hotel room, sat them on the edge of a bed, and asked for their life stories. Just the highlights: age, family, hobbies, trauma. They must have liked Mara’s, because the next day they called her back to the hotel. The room was disheveled by then, and the bedspread less crisp.

“So tell me,” said the casting agent from behind a giant lens. He wore a blazer and sipped an energy drink through a straw. “What skills would you bring to this challenge?”

He told her to answer in full sentences, as if she were not responding to a question at all, but simply thinking aloud.

“I would bring many skills to the challenge,” said Mara, feeling uncomfortable. “For instance, I’m good at foraging.” She was good at a lot of things outdoors, but foraging was the first that came to mind.

“That’s good,” he said. “That’s a start. Can you say it with more conviction?”

Mara sat up straighter, which was hard, because the edge of the bed sloped down. “I’m very good at foraging.”

“Do you think you can last six weeks out there?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Anything could happen. I could get struck by lightning. But I think my odds are good.”

“What would you say your odds are?”

“Better than most.”

“Full sentences. And look, you do you, but if you could sound more confident—”

She was trying.

“I will last six weeks in the challenge,” Mara said. Then, when he didn’t respond, “I know for a fact that I can last six weeks out there, whatever happens. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again.”

That wasn’t strictly accurate. Mara rarely slept outside the camper when she wasn’t working; she didn’t see the point. But the agent liked it.

“Great,” he said. “Perfect. Do you want to add anything about making nature your bitch?”

“I’d rather not,” she said.

“Okay,” he said, glancing at his notes. “That was promising, Mary. That’ll do for now.”

She did not expect to hear from him again. But a few weeks later, the show’s producer, Lenny, called and told her she’d made the cut. She had three days to commit or decline.

Bjørn was thrilled. Having an instructor on television would be a boon for Primal Instinct. He could offer special promotions, and host a public viewing party with chaga beer and cricket chips for snacks. He’d charge a premium for Mara’s classes. Even rebrand the school around the show, if it came to that. He asked Mara to mention Primal Instinct by name as many times as she could.

When Mara told Ethan the news, he went outside and didn’t come back all afternoon. She took a nap on the futon, pleased to have the camper to herself. By evening he was ready to talk.

“I’m just concerned,” he said. “I don’t want them to take advantage of you. Don’t you think it’s degrading? Going out there for everyone to see? Living like we do, it’s . . . it’s sacred. It’s not a publicity stunt.”