They don’t press me for details, don’t ask how I made it back. Instead, they fuss over me, refilling the tea I’ve hardly touched and bringing me food. I eat mechanically, more out of politeness than hunger.
Numbness creeps in, settling deep in my bones. I tell myself that I’m just exhausted, that as Tenzig said, I’ll find that path forward. But the truth is, I don’t know if this storm will pass. I don’t know if this snow will ever settle. And even if it does, I don’t know that my heart will ever thaw again.
After my third yawn, Tenzig bids me goodnight, and Sita insists on walking me back to my room. She sets up a small space heater before leaving with a lingering look of concern.
Once the door is locked behind her, I cross to the window and stare out over the river, my breath fogging against the glass. I drag my finger through the condensation, drawing the chemical formula for Silenol, the compound I was hoping to extract from the flower.
But it no longer looks like salvation. It no longer looks like hope. It’s nothing but a barrier between me and Eryon. I dash it away with my sleeve so my eyes can search the darkness for him even though I know he’s not there, no matter how much I wish he was.
If Eryon hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye, he sure as hell wouldn’t be standing across the river in the trees, watching over me now. But I ache to see him. To know he hasn’t disappeared from my life completely.
The memory of his silver eyes flashes in my mind. How they burned into me that first night I saw them. The way they softened when he whispered my name,hisname for me—Sruhnar. The sound echoes in my ears, curling around me like a prayer. Or a curse.
My fingers clench the windowsill, knuckles white. If I just stare long enough, maybe?—
But the night remains empty. The dark woods hold no silver glow. Instead, the shadows swirl with secrets, and I am nothing but an outsider. I drop my forehead to the cold glass and close my eyes.
I didn’t just lose him. I lost everything. I’m left with nothing but the icy wind and the weight of my failure. But I have to move forward, because there is no other choice. I hear my mother’s voice in my mind again.
Onwards and upwards honey.
If only rock bottom wasn’t so much deeper than I thought. Exhaling, I force myself to sit at my desk and open my laptop. The scientist in me won’t let me waste time—not while I still have the memory of the plant fresh in my mind. I begin typing notes, logging every detail I remember. Although, now that I know how the specimen was originally obtained, I see its promise through a different lens.
The glow of the screen blurs as exhaustion presses down on me. Eventually, I shut the laptop, my brain unable to form one more coherent thought.
With a heavy heart, I crawl into bed, curling into a ball beneath the thick quilt. Sleep takes me fast, pulling me into restless dreams of endless caverns, iridescent violet-blue flowers, and silver eyes that I will never see again.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Eryon
Ido not look back. Icannot. If I do, I will go to her. And if I go to her, I will never let her go.
I take the punishing route home—the path that demands blood. Snowdrifts claw at my legs and sharp rocks pierce even the thickness of my skin. The wind howls through the valley like a living thing, but I do not feel any of it. I only feel the absence of her.
It is an emptiness I have known before. One carved into the foundation of my soul long ago, a chasm of grief that time never completely filled. I thought I had made peace with it. Thought I had accepted my fate.
And then she came—my Winter Star.
The one I should not have touched, should not have wanted. Yet fate had thrust her into my arms, again and again. And I am not as strong as I thought I was for all of these centuries. Not strong enough to keep her from slipping through my fingers like melting snow, even as I tried to hold on.
As I climb, a squall kicks up. Ice crusts the edges of my fur,driven against my skin in sharp, stinging waves. I could increase my temperature or lengthen my fur to protect myself, but I don’t bother. I welcome the pain. It keeps me from thinking. From feeling.
The wind screams in my ears like my bleeding heart as I make the steep ascent. I push myself until my muscles ache, my breath a ragged thing torn from my chest. Perhaps I will die after all. Perhaps the mountain will finally take me.
But it does not.
I pass between the sentinel stones, their jagged peaks towering above me like ancient guardians. I trail my fingers along their rough surface, as I have for centuries, but this time—this time, they feel like grave markers.
I press forward through the whispering gorge, where the wind wails so loud it drowns the sound of my own thoughts. Yet beneath the mountain’s agony, I hear something else. The phantom echo of her voice.
“You don’t understand—I need this plant. I’m not just here for myself, for research. This isn’t about taking or destroying—it’s about survival.”
I clench my jaw, my breath coming in ragged bursts. She was not the first to say such things to me. The man that came before also spoke of healing, of discovery, of a future where knowledge could change lives. He, too, swore that he would only take what was needed.
And then he took everything. The plants. The chance to save my snowling. The last light in my mate’s eyes.
I stagger. Just for a breath, just for a single misstep, but it is enough. Rocks cascade over the edge of the narrow path where my foot is poised. I am unraveling, and I welcome it. It’s what I deserve for failing everyone I have ever loved. One strong gust, a fraction of a shift in my balance, and I will fall.
