Soren gave a small, incredulous laugh. “Not a chance.”
That laugh broke something in Nia. Before she could think, she stepped closer, hands trembling as they reached for Soren’s sweater. “This was never supposed to be more than?—”
“I know,” Soren murmured. “But it is.”
The distance between them vanished. Nia pressed her forehead against Soren’s chest, breathing in the scent of soap and woodsmoke and something that felt like home. Soren’s arms came around her instantly, strong and sure, holding her the way no one ever had—like she wasn’t a responsibility, but a person.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Nia whispered.
“Then don’t,” Soren said. “Just… be here. For a minute.”
So she did. She let herself feel it—the weight of Soren’s arms, the steady beat of her heart, the warmth that made the rest of the world blur.
When she finally pulled back, tears burned at the edges of her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. “If things were different…”
Soren gave a small, rueful smile. “They never are, though, are they?”
Nia shook her head, forcing herself to take a step back, then another. “Goodbye, Soren.”
Soren didn’t move. “Don’t make it sound final, Doc.”
Nia tried to smile, but it broke halfway through. “Maybe it isn’t.”
And then she turned away, before she could change her mind.
The door closed softly behind her, leaving the faint echo of Soren’s voice and the scent of smoke and pine lingering in the air.
Outside, the sun was breaking through the clouds, turning the snow to glitter. The storm had ended—but inside Nia, something far more dangerous had just begun.
10
SOREN
The plows came early.
By the time the sun had climbed over the ridge, the sound of their heavy engines had replaced the quiet sigh of melting snow. The world outside the lodge glittered—wet roads cutting through drifts, icicles breaking loose from the eaves in slow, steady drops.
Soren stood on the porch with a shovel in hand, pretending to help Ellis clear the steps though most of the work was already done. The old man hummed something under his breath, cheerful now that the storm had passed.
“Feels good to see pavement again,” he said, leaning on his shovel. “Town’ll be busy by noon. Folks’ll come up from the valley just to see the snow.”
Soren smiled faintly. “Guess the mountain’s back to being pretty again.”
Ellis chuckled. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Soren didn’t answer. She was watching the parking area where a line of cars idled, engines humming, exhaust curling into the cold morning air. Guests loading luggage, hugging, laughing—the usual post-storm ritual of relief.
And then she sawher.
Nia stood by her rental, sleek coat buttoned, hair pinned up again, professional polish restored as if the last few days had been nothing but a pause between surgeries. She looked exactly like she should: composed, capable, untouchable.
But then Nia turned her head toward the lodge, and for the briefest second, Soren swore their eyes met across the distance. The moment was tiny, but it landed like a heartbeat she couldn’t ignore.
Nia hesitated—just long enough for Soren to wonder if she’d change her mind—then lifted one gloved hand, a small, tentative wave that was almost nothing at all.
Soren didn’t wave back.
She couldn’t.
