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We’ll be dead.
I slump into my cocoon. “When I suggested we put Denver in a cage, this isn’t how I imagined it.”
“Things never work out the way we intend.” He rises and steps into the hallway. “They work out the way nature intends.”
“What about this awful space between us? Is this nature’s intention, too?”
“There’s a bowl of soup by the hearth. Don’t leave this room.”
With that, he’s gone.
It hurts. Like a pebble in my throat, it hangs there. A relatively small pain compared to the cold, the hunger, and the constant fear for Leo and Wolf. But I can’t swallow it, can’t dislodge it. It stabs and burns with every breath.
I eat the soup and drift back to sleep.
Upon waking, I find more wood on the fire. A table leg. Broken bits of a bookshelf. Smoke saturates the room.
I sense Kody lingering in the doorway. “They’re still not back?”
A grumbled no returns as he stalks away.
This pattern persists. I sleep. He brings food. I pose questions. He evades. And so, I remain alone, swaddled in dread.
By the fourth day, I’m going out of my mind.
Why is he stonewalling me? Is he still mad because I challenged Denver? Or is it something else? Rather than confronting the issue, he has completely shut down. Does he feel overwhelmed? Mentally or emotionally flooded? Maybe I pushed too hard, but this is who I am. I don’t just sit back and take orders.
Except that’s exactly what I’ve done for four days.
Dragging my stiff body to the window, I rub away the frost. On the other side, the malicious wind claws at the glass.
Every gust echoes my mounting fear. That godawful snowstorm holds Leo and Wolf in its grasp, and I’m left here, powerless, my heart gripped by a chill far deeper than the arctic winter.
My breath forms a fleeting, frosty mist, dissolving into the darkness of the room. I’m haunted by the thought of them out there, facing this merciless weather. I can’t stop picturing their fierce faces, wrapped in fur hats and neck gaiters, their eyes holding a glow of determination, a flinty glimmer that now seems as distant as the sunrise.
My heart pounds, marking each second of their absence, each beat an aching weight. I hug a blanket around me, trying to hold onto the warmth of the fireplace, but it’s their presence I yearn for, their safety I desperately need.
The retrieval of coal feels so insignificant against the enormity of my worry.
“Please, Wolf, Leo. Please, be safe and return to me.” My voice is a mere wisp of sound, lost in the roar of the storm.
Several more hours creep by, the darkness a constant shroud over the snowy tundra. I strain my ears for any sound, a sign of their return, but there’s only the howling wind, a mournful symphony to my growing despair.
Kody doesn’t come back.
I may not know day from night, but the cramping in my stomach tells me I’ve missed a meal. Maybe several. I can’t remember the last time I went to the bathroom.
Where the fuck is he?
I toss a dismantled chair on the fire, heat a pot of water, and take an agonizing sponge bath until my skin burns from the cold.
More introspection leads to more worry, and I make a decision. I would rather risk his rage than face another hour of anxiety-filled isolation.
Wrapped in layers upon layers to combat frostbite, I steel myself against the wind and head to the workshop.
Outside, the path is unshoveled, the snow swallowing my legs to the thighs. A daunting obstacle. And troubling. It’s not like Kody to let the snow pile up.
Clinging to the rope railing along the pathway, I let it guide me to the workshop and shove my shoulder into the door.
It doesn’t budge.
Wriggling the handle, I ram it again.
Nothing.
Desperation sets in as I throw myself against it, over and over, my efforts met with stubborn resistance.
Something is barricading it.
The thought strikes me like a cold slap.
Oh, God, no.
Could Denver have broken free? Is Kody a prisoner inside?
No, no, no, no, no.
With growing alarm, I navigate the snowy mounds, sinking, climbing, digging through piles of hard-packed powder, clawing my way to the snow-covered window. After what feels like an eternity, my gloves finally find glass.
Peering through the small clearing, I’m greeted by the dark abyss of the workshop. Candles flicker along the perimeter, casting deceptive shadows in every direction, playing tricks on my eyes.
Kody is nowhere to be seen.
The door to the cell is obscured from view. That means it’s shut. Hopefully, Denver is still in there.
But something lies on the floor near it.
At first glance, it looks like blankets, but no. That’s fur.
Kody’s fur coat.
My stomach plummets as I stare harder, making out the shape of his discarded boots. His gloves. A pair of jeans.
I flinch, trembling, panicking.
