And for reasons I can’t explain, that steadiness feels like the safest thing I’ve ever known.
7
CASSIAN
The storm breaks slow, as if it isn’t ready to surrender its grip on the land, but the snow softens under the sun and the wind carries only a whisper instead of a roar. I should take the quiet and hold it close, but instead I pace the ridge above her camp, every step heavier than the last. The bear growls low inside me, restless since the night in the cave, since the feel of her pressed warm against me, since her chatter filled the silence I once thought I wanted.
She should never have crossed my path. She should never have looked at me with those bright eyes, full of curiosity sharp enough to cut through armor.
I descend the slope anyway, boots crunching in the packed snow, each step pulling me closer to the mistake I swore I would not make. The dogs bark before I reach the edge of her camp, tails lashing as they rise to their feet. Their hackles stiffen, but not with fear. They recognize me, and that unsettles me more than the storm ever did.
She bursts from her tent, arms full of gear, hair wild from pulling off her hood too fast. Her eyes lock on me, andshe freezes for a heartbeat before she forces herself forward, stubborn chin lifting.
“You again,” she says, voice too loud for the quiet morning. “Do you haunt blizzards, or just me?”
I stop three paces away, my shadow long across the snow. “Stop filming.”
Her mouth parts in disbelief, and then she laughs, quick and nervous, the sound bouncing off the ice as if she’s trying to scare away fear. “That’s your opening line? Not even a hello? Not even a thank you for not elbowing me in the ribs last night?”
“Stop,” I repeat, voice low, steady. “Shut the drones down. No more cameras. Not here.”
She plants her hands on her hips, mittens dangling, her eyes flashing. “That’s not how this works. I don’t pack up and walk away because a near stranger with glacier eyes and ripped abs tells me to. I’m here to do a job, and unless you’ve got a signed letter from my producer telling me otherwise, I’ll keep filming.”
I take a step closer. “Your cameras catch what they shouldn’t. What no one should. Destroy the footage, or the wrong people will come.”
Her head tilts, sharp and curious, and her breath fogs between us. “You mean the wrong people like those slick researchers with brand new coats who asked too many questions in town? Because I saw them too, and they didn’t smell like fishermen. They smelled like money and trouble.”
“The Syndicate,” I growl.
The bear presses hard, claws dragging along my ribs, and I bare my teeth before I can stop it. The sound that slips out of me is half snarl, half warning, deep enough that the dogs shrink back against their sled. She flinches, eyes widening, but she doesn’t run.
She studies me with that quick mind of hers, lips parting slowly.
“Your eyes,” she whispers, voice almost lost to the wind. “They glow. Just like the blur I caught on film. Man and bear at once. I thought maybe I imagined it, maybe it was just ice glare, but no. It’s you.”
The snarl rips free of me this time, sharp and raw, and she steps back fast, boots slipping on the snow. Fear flickers in her eyes, but so does something else—defiance, reckless and burning.
“Delete it,” I growl.
“No.” Her voice wavers, but the word holds steady. She folds her arms tight across her chest, trying to make her small frame stand as strong as the ridge behind her. “I don’t care what you are, and I don’t care if my producer begs for it, but I won’t erase proof without reason. You want me to destroy it, then tell me why it matters.”
I step closer, close enough for her to feel the heat rolling off me, close enough that the bear inside me rumbles approval at her refusal to retreat. “Because truth gets people killed. Those men you mentioned, they are not researchers. They carry steel under their coats, not notebooks. They follow orders written in blood. You feed them even a glimpse of what you have, and they will track it until there is nothing left standing. Do you understand me? Nothing.”
Her breath catches, the first real crack in her defiance, but she recovers fast. “I don’t want blood, I want facts. That’s why I came here. If I have proof of something impossible, I can’t just look away. That’s not who I am.”
“Then you’ll die for it,” I tell her, flat and certain.
She takes a step toward me, surprising us both, her voice sharp with fire. “Maybe. But last night you didn’t let me die. You dragged me out of the snow, and you stayed awake until the storm passed, and you didn’t move even once while I slept on your chest. You could have walked away, but you didn’t. Don’tstand here now and tell me to forget you exist when you made sure I lived.”
Her words hit harder than claws. The bear thrums under my skin, restless, urging me closer. I clench my fists until the leather of my gloves creaks.
“You’re safer if you forget,” I say, though the words sound thin even to me. “Stay in your camp. No wandering, no drones, no questions. Do that, and you may leave this place alive.”
Her chin lifts, her eyes bright with stubborn fire. “Alive but blind isn’t living. You can’t ask me to erase what I saw and then pretend nothing happened. You’re standing in front of me, flesh and blood and secrets, and you’re asking me to lie to myself.”
I don’t answer, because there is no answer that doesn’t unravel everything. The silence stretches until she speaks again, her voice softer.
“I’ll shut the drones down,” she says. “I’ll stay in camp at night, and I won’t send my footage anywhere. But I won’t delete it. And I won’t stop looking at you like I know there’s more than you want me to see.”
