Felix stops scrubbing. "Well, food-wise, we've got the main pantry and the freezer, but we don't have much sincesomeone"—he looks at Silas, who just grunts—"didn’t do the grocery run when he was supposed to."
"The generator has enough fuel for three days if we run it efficiently," Liam adds, looking at me. "Less if we're careless with the lights and heat. Although, we do have firewood as well…"
Silas grunts again. He clearly hates that I'm taking charge. He's the pack leader, this is his territory, and I just stepped on it… but he can't argue with the initiative. "Felix, show her the pantry. I'm going to the rink."
"Actually, can we all do the inventory together?" I ask, sliding off the stool. "It's more efficient if we have a clear, shared understanding of our resources from the start."
His eyes narrow. I've just challenged him again, but I meet his gaze without flinching.
A tense second passes.
"Fine," Silas finally bites out. He yanks open a tall door by the fridge. "Pantry's here. Let's get your 'logistics' over with."
Chapter ten
Naomi
The chalet feels like a pressure cooker by early-afternoon.
We’ve done the food inventory, argued over bacon rations, and confirmed there’s more than enough ingredients to last us a few days if we don’t eat like linebackers. The generator’s fine, the heat’s steady. On paper, we’re organized.
After that, the guys disappeared down the glass corridor to the rink to “burn off energy” and “stay sharp,” leaving me alone with absolutely nothing left to do.
I am used to fourteen-hour days and back-to-back calls.
Now I’m pacing grooves into their rug.
By the time the breezeway door finally opens and a cooler draft slips into the room, I’m one more lap away from clawing at the walls.
The three of them step in, cheeks pink from the cold, talking quietly. Felix beelines for the kitchen island, rummaging in the pantry for something snackable now that he knows we’re not on the brink of starvation. Liam heads for the fridge. Silas shakes ice shavings off his sleeves and goes right back to the window.
I stop pacing. “Okay, I can’t just sit here.”
“And what’d you want to do?” Silas turns to me. “Snow-ga?”
“You, my friend, must be a real hit at parties,” I say, dry.
We stare at each other for a beat, our jaws tight.
Felix closes the pantry with his hip, a granola bar in his hand. “Hey. You know, you could come to the rink with us,” he says. “Stretch your legs. You know, so you don't pace yourself to death.”
I glance toward the corridor door. Then at Silas, whose expression tightens immediately.
“Too bad she doesn’t have skates,” he says smugly.
“Actually, we’ve got a few spares that should be her size,” Felix says, not missing a beat.
Silas folds his arms. “Well, we need room to run drills,” he says. “This isn’t open skate at a mall rink.”
Felix tears open the granola bar wrapper with his teeth, then jerks his chin toward the breezeway. “It’s a full sheet of ice, man. We can run drills and let Naomi do laps without anyone dying.”
"Plus, it's not like you actually need the practice," I add, smirking. "You know, since you don't actually intend to play the upcoming game.”
"We practice because that’s what we do. Game or no game.” He grunts, then his gaze flicks briefly to Liam and Felix. Neither argues with that.
Felix lifts his hand. “Okay, then: democracy. All in favor of letting Naomi join us on the ice?”
His own hand stays up… Then Liam raises his after a beat.
