Page 164 of These Tears

She peeks out the front window, squinting towards the dimming sky. ‘There’s a small gathering later – some joiking, and the children are doing a little duodji with the older ones. We try to make sure they keep learning it.’

My head lifts slightly at the terms. I’ve read about duodji – the traditional Sámi handcraft, but the other term—

‘Joik?’

‘Joiking,’ she corrects with a mild smile. ‘Singing is the closest term to it, but it isn’t quite the same. You don’t always joik about someone. Sometimes you joik them – a person, a place, even a memory.’ Her eyes soften. ‘You’ll hear.’

Pale eyes, rimmed with grey lashes, linger on me long enough to make me wonder how much she notices – and how much she chooses not to say.

The hairs along my arms lift.

I glance towards the place where Elias had been standing. He’s gone.

He… left me alone?

I hadn’t even noticed him slip away.

Did he go to see Inga?

My fingers twitch. I reach for the strap of the camera that isn’t there. When my fingers find no purchase, they shift to the zip and pull my jacket halfway open. My skin is flushed already, as if my mind only just realised I’m overheating.

And there’s another thing.

I push my hands into the pockets and curl my fingers around my phone.

‘Is there… any chance I could get a signal somewhere?’ I ask, keeping my tone casual but low enough that he won’t overhear. ‘Even one bar?’

Sunna laughs softly as she heads back to the till. ‘Oh, no, dear. Not in this hollow. The mountains kill it. You can use the landline after Elias is done with it.’

My eyes shoot towards where he’d been standing.

Now I’m burning to know who he’s calling.

‘He’s just out the back. End of the corridor, to the left.’

I nod, but my eyes drift over my shoulder – where the exit smiles at me. So close. A handful of steps, really.

But the thought barely forms before the flashback of the snow swallowing my scream hits me. The freezing air clawing at my lungs, the creak of his boots against the white cover closing in.

The frenzied kiss.

I rub my hands together as if that might settle my nerves.

‘Go on, dear,’ Sunna says warmly, mistaking the delay for confusion. Her hand gestures me forward just as the bell above the door jingles. A man enters with a cheerful greeting, and she switches instantly to Norwegian, her voice still as bright as the midday sun in a place that barely gets any in winter.

I move towards the back door before I lose the nerve.

Each step feels heavier than the last, but I keep the rhythm soft, my boots grazing the wood. The narrow corridor stretches ahead. It’s too dark and too cramped to belong to anything less than a haunted house.

A low, familiar growl makes me stop midway.

It’s Elias. There’s no mistaking that rasp in his voice.

And he is not calm.

A thud snaps out – wood protesting under the force of something hard. My skin prickles as I continue moving. He must’ve hit something.

I go slower, breath stuck between my ribs and my throat. Just a few more steps and I’d be able to hear properly—