The light bounced off ice and nothing else.
“If Warren is out there . . .” she started.
“We’ll never find him in this,” Jason said. “The temperature’s dropping fast. We’d freeze before we made it fifty yards. We didn’t bring the right gear for this.”
Olive’s thoughts clashed inside her. Just because those footprints matched didn’t mean that Warren was guilty of killing JJ. He could still be in danger.
The wind picked up again, sharp and wild. Olive flinched as snow stung her exposed skin.
Jason placed a hand on her arm. “We go back. Tell the others. We’ll search when the storm lets up.”
Though every instinct in her screamed to keep looking, Olive nodded. Logic won.
Warren wouldn’t have wanted them dying for him.
Plus, they’d promised Rex to come back, and he’d been adamant.
Still, something about leaving felt wrong. It felt like giving up—and Olive wasn’t a quitter.
They turned back toward the lodge, heads bowed against the wind. The warm glow from the windows was barely visible through the whiteout, flickering like a fragile promise of safety.
As they climbed the steps, Olive glanced back one last time.
The forest was nothing but a wall of darkness and snow.
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was watching from within it.
The blast of heat from the lodge hit Olive like a wall when she stepped back inside. Snow clung to her coat and hair, melting into cold rivulets down her neck.
Everyone immediately turned toward them in the dim glow of the fire.
Everyone except Rachel and Bradford, who were probably still sleeping.
And . . . except Rex, who stood in the corner, speaking in low tones with Mara. Their heads were close together, voices too quiet to make out over the wind that still moaned outside.
Something about the way they stood—too still, too deliberate—sent a prickle down Olive’s spine. She couldn’t pinpoint why.
Maybe it was the tension in Mara’s shoulders, or the flicker of guilt that crossed Rex’s face when he noticed Olive watching.
He straightened immediately, his usual composure snapping back into place as he turned toward her and Jason. “Did you find Warren?”
Jason shook his head, his gaze full of regret. “No, just his footprint by the generator. The snow’s coming down too hard. Any tracks are gone.”
A murmur rippled through the group.
Mitzi was the first to move. “You two look half-frozen. Let me fix you something warm to drink. We just heated some water on the camp stove.”
A moment later, Olive accepted some hot chocolate with numb fingers. The cocoa was gritty and too sweet, but she sipped it anyway, grateful for the warmth.
As another coughing fit seized Trick, he excused himself from the room.
Nova pulled her blanket tighter as she sat in an armchair near the fire. “So, Warren’s really gone? Just . . . gone? Do we think someone has taken him hostage? Or that he left on his own—and if so, why would he do that?”
“We only saw one set of footprints, which makes it appear he left on his own.” Jason stood near the kitchen door and sipped his own warm drink. “However, it doesn’t make sense he would do that.”
“So what if someone had a gun on him—just not right beside him?” Nova continued. “That makes more sense, doesn’t it?”
Olive and Jason exchanged a look.
