The retreat was supposed to fix me. The glossy brochure had promised a week in a snowy mountain valley to “reclaim your inner peace,” as if I could schedule serenity like a court hearing. I’d spent the day grimacing through yoga poses that left my hips throbbing and a meditation session where my brain churned through case files instead of clearing.
Now, past midnight, my shoulders were knotted tighter than a bad contract. I was done faking it through “mindful breathing.” The sauna was my last shot at relief, a cedar-lined box hidden behind the retreat’s main lodge.
No phones, no distractions—just heat and silence. I needed both to dull the burnout clawing at me. I slipped through the door, and the air hit me like a furnace.
The musky scent of cedar flooded my senses. Amber lights cast a
