On the northwest edge of the Lake District lies a long, narrow body of water ringed by a dirt track and surrounded by steep, scree-covered mountainsides. Several miles past a metal gate is a hostel tucked into a mott of trees. Itβs a small, stone building with a modest hearth and a sitting room that looks out across the narrow valley toward the steep hills on the opposite side. Weary travelers can rest their legs there, eat chicken katsu curry, and sleep in cozy bunks before setting out for another day of adventure. There is no wifi or cell phone signal. Switch your phone on and you wonβt see 5G, 4G, or 3G. Youβll see βNo Service.β Just outside the sitting room is a bird feeder where tiny finches flutter and peck their way to full bellies, and a solitary red squirrel performs daring feats of acrobatics for the chance to empty the feeder outright.
On the afternoon of September 30th, a young couple who had been staying at the hostel went missing. They had been there for two nights and had kept largely to themselves, even as the other guests chatted about their destinations and knowledge of the surrounding fells. The woman was tall and dark-haired with evasive eyes and a stillness that seeped into the air around her. The man was broad-chested and jovial, with a way of sliding through conversations as if he owned them, but without giving anything of himself away in the process. They had rented the only private room in the hostel, but while the woman disappeared in the evenings, the man settled himself in front of the roaring fire with the other guests, lending his voice to the discussion only when he had an opportunity to contradict.