"H—How far?" I manage, looking away.
"Twenty minutes." He starts toward the trailhead. "Twenty-five if you're slow."
I fall into step beside him. The trail is wide enough for both of us if we stay close, and I'm hyperaware of his arm against mine.
"Is this where you bring all the omegas with rare scent conditions?" I ask.
"Totally. Standard post-clinic protocol." He holds up a hand, ticking off fingers. "Bloodwork, diagnosis, scenic overlook."
"I like me an alpha with a system," I say.
"Efficiency is underrated," he says with a smile.
The trail steepens. The trees thin. I watch my feet, picking my way between rocks, while Arthur moves like the trail was poured around him.
"You come here a lot?" I ask.
"Used to." He holds a branch aside for me. "Haven't in a while."
My foot slides on gravel. His hand catches my elbow instinctively and a warm current shoots up my arm and lands somewhere behind my sternum.
"The shoes," I say. "No grip."
"It's always the shoes," he says softly, his fingers staying a beat longer than necessary before he lets go.
We climb in silence for a while. My calves burn a little but I refuse to mention it. A bird does something elaborate in the canopy above us, and Arthur whistles back at it, three low notes, and it feels like the bird actually answers.
He looks at ease. Even after everything that happened that night after the stag and doe, he's still just being Arthur.
"Almost there," he says.
The trail flattens. Opens. And then ends: a wide shelf of rock that juts out from the hillside.
"Oh," I say.
Lakeview fans out below us. The lake is enormous from up here, flat and blue, and the town clusters along its shore in miniature. The colored rooftops. The church steeple. Mountains ringing it all, snow still on the highest peaks.
I sit on the warm rock. Arthur drops down next to me, our shoulders touching.
We're quiet for a minute. The wind picks up, dies, comes back.
"Can I ask you something?" I say.
"Always."
"When I told you guys." I pull my knees up. "Did it change things?"
Arthur doesn't answer right away. He looks out at the valley, looking like he's turning the question over to make sure he gives it back right.
"I'm pretty sure Mason pulled back," I say before he answers, picking at a thread on my jeans.
A beat of silence. "Doesn't mean he's gone," he says.
I turn my head on my knees to face him. "But how do you know that?"
"Because he gave me his truck today so I could pick you up."
I look over.
