This small glimpse into Henry’s past fascinated Ivy. The distant ranger was slowly revealing layers she hadn’t expected.
“What about you?” he asked, surprising her with the reciprocal question. “Following in Corey Bright’s famous footsteps always the plan?”
Ivy considered the question more seriously than she might have with anyone else. “Yes and no,” she answered. “I always loved science, but I considered other paths. Applied to medical school actually.”
“What changed?”
“Dad never pressured me toward the institute,” Ivy said, staring into her nearly empty bowl. “But the summer after my senior thesis, I helped with a genetics project that just... clicked.”
Henry nodded, understanding evident in his eyes. He gathered their empty bowls, moving to the sink to wash them withthe same quiet efficiency he brought to everything. Ivy found herself watching his movements, appreciating the economy of his gestures, the careful attention he paid to each task.
“Fire’s better for drying out,” he suggested, gesturing toward the hearth.
They settled on a worn leather sofa positioned before the fireplace, maintaining a careful distance between them. The storm continued to batter the cabin, making the fire’s warmth feel all the more precious. Rain lashed against the windows, occasionally illuminated by lightning. Thunder rumbled continuously, sometimes directly overhead.
“Your work at the corridor,” Ivy began, turning slightly to face Henry. “How did you develop such precise tracking skills? That trip wire was practically invisible.”
The question opened unexpected floodgates. Henry spoke more in the next hour than he had in all their previous interactions combined. He described learning to track with his uncle Cyrus, spending entire summers as a teenager following animal paths through the mountain’s most remote regions. His expertise had expanded during college, where he’d studied wildlife migration patterns using both traditional knowledge and modern technology.
Ivy listened intently, asking questions that revealed her own scientific understanding. Their shared passion for Fate Mountain’s ecosystems created a bridge between them, easier to cross than the emotional terrain they both carefully avoided.
“The climate changes we’re seeing are shifting migration patterns,” Henry explained, his voice animated with concern. “Development pressures from the valley push wildlife higher,but warming temperatures make those higher elevations less hospitable for certain species.”
“That’s exactly why the nature center matters,” Ivy said earnestly. “People protect what they understand.”
“If it’s done right,” Henry conceded, meeting her eyes with unexpected warmth.
“Is that a vote of confidence from the mountain’s most skeptical ranger?” Ivy teased gently.
Something shifted in Henry’s expression. “I judged your project too quickly,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Assumed it was just another development threatening the mountain.”
“And now?”
“Now I know it’s more.”
The simple acknowledgment meant more to Ivy than elaborate praise might have from someone else. They had somehow drifted closer on the sofa, the careful distance between them narrowing without conscious decision.
“About what happened at the brewery,” Henry said abruptly, his voice roughening.
Ivy’s heart skipped. She’d been avoiding this topic all evening, uncertain if he would acknowledge it at all. “You don’t need to explain,” she said quickly.
“I do.” His jaw tightened with determination. “I shouldn’t have left like that.”
“Why did you?” Ivy asked, unable to keep the harshness from her voice.
Henry stared into the fire, silent for so long that Ivy thought he might not answer. When he finally spoke, each word seemed carefully chosen.
“The mate bond... it’s permanent,” he said. “One claiming bite, and there’s no going back. Ever.”
“I know the biology,” Ivy said.
“It’s not just biology.” Henry turned to look at her directly. “It’s a life sentence. For both of us.”
“Is the thought of being connected to me really so terrible?” Ivy asked, the question emerging before she could reconsider.
“No.” The word came out rough, almost pained. “That’s the problem.”
Confusion furrowed Ivy’s brow. “I don’t understand.”
