Breathe. Breathe.
He grit his teeth, trying to center himself, to slow the galloping terror thudding through his chest. Every attempt to shift sent agony crackling down his side. He drew in a ragged breath and shouted.
His voice echoed through the trees, startling a flock of unseen birds. Then—silence. Just the steady whisper of the stream, the groan of branches, and the soft hiss of melting snow.
His teeth chattered. He was losing heat. Fast.
Think.
His pack—where was it? He craned his neck, vision swimming, and spotted it near his foot. If only he could hook the strap—
He reached. Pain exploded through his chest and down his arm. He cried out, tears biting the corners of his eyes.
He lay still, chest rising in shallow bursts. The nausea crept in slow and vile. He swallowed hard, breathing through his nose, jaw locked.
He should’ve known better. A lifetime in these woods, and still he ignored the signs. The weight of wet snow, the warning groans of tired boughs—it was no mystery. Just carelessness. He saw the danger and didn’t respect it.
“Exactly how I planned to spend my afternoon. Pinned under a tree. Flawless execution,” he bit out through gritted teeth.
Eventually, the edge of the pain dulled enough for him to unclench his jaw. His whole body felt tight, like a bowstring drawn too far.
He closed his eyes. Filled his lungs.
And screamed again. “Help—"
“Whose there?”
Nic almost choked on the sound. His eyes widened. Had he imagined it? But no—there it was again. Even beneath the frantic hammering of his heart, he caught it, the crunch of boots in snow.
“Help,” he shouted, voice cracking. “Please! Over here!”
A distant voice answered, echoing through the trees. “Where are you?”
“By the stream!” Nic bellowed, every word flaring through his ribcage. “I’m trapped!”
Branches snapped. Footsteps broke through snowdrifts, drawing closer. He twisted his neck toward the sound. “Here! I’m here!”
The rustling stopped just behind him.
A woman’s startled gasp cut through the quiet. She rounded the fallen tree, approaching with careful steps. “Oh, stars. Are you alright?”
Nic managed a weak smile. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’ve been better.”
She pushed damp blonde curls away from her face as she knelt beside him. Young—twenty, maybe younger—with a face still rosy from the cold. Her eyes swept over the fallen limb.
“Half the tree’s come down on you,” she murmured. “I need to move it.”
“I leave my fate in your capable hands,” he said, a touch of theatrical resignation in his voice. The truth, he didn’t have the strength to move so much as a finger. His arm was a blaze ofpain, and the cold was seeping in deeper by the second. If he let his eyes close, he feared they wouldn’t open again.
She disappeared behind him, her footsteps crunching softly. Branches trembled above, dislodging a fresh flurry of snow as she pulled and strained. Wood creaked. Twigs snapped.
Nothing moved.
“Do you live nearby?” he called hoarsely. “Could you fetch help?”
She returned to view, panting, brushing snow from her coat. “Not far,” she said, “but my husband’s gone for the season, and my nearest neighbor lives half a day’s walk. I don’t think you’ll fare well if I leave you like this.”
Unfortunately, she was right. His left arm was little more than fire and ice, and the rest of his body was fading fast. Still, his wits clung to one last strand of purpose.
