Scout hauled her upright before she could fully fall.
“You good?”
“Go!”
He didn’t let go of her arm again.
The cabin’s dark shape emerged through the storm like something imagined. The windows glowed faintly—barely a promise.
The wind shoved at their backs, trying to spin them sideways. Scout threw his shoulder into the door and forced it open, dragging her inside as another round cracked somewhere in the white.
The door slammed shut.
They stood there, chests heaving.
The Cabin
They stood inside, gasping for air, backs pressed to wood and glass that shook with every gust. Scout’s hands trembled as he peeled off his gloves—he hadn’t noticed how bad until one tumbled to the floor.
Tessa blinked snow from her lashes, tears and sleet running together. She gave a half-wild sound.
Scout swore.
“Didn’t think we’d ever see the inside of this place again.”
“Me either.” She rubbed her arms hard. “Let’s… try not to die of hypothermia.”
As the fire’s warmth reached them, their knees nearly buckled at the same moment.
Scout touched her temple, thumb steadier than his pulse.
“You sure you weren’t hit?”
“Pretty sure,” she said. “Wood caught me.”
“You’ll have a hell of a bruise.”
“Add it to the collection.”
She sank into the rocking chair. Scout crossed to the window and pulled the curtain back enough to see nothing but white.
“We’re not getting off this ridge tonight,” he said.
“You think it was him?”
He let the curtain fall.
“Yeah. I do.”
They sat in the roar of the wind, the crackle of the fire filling the rest.
Scout exhaled.
“Storm like this? He won’t stick around long. If he didn’t head off this mountain right after that last shot, we might find him tomorrow—frozen solid or buried in a drift.”
“That’s comforting,” she said weakly.
“Realistic.”
