Something in his expression breaks open—relief, disbelief, something deeper and older. He touches my cheek with the backs of his knuckles, careful and reverent.
"I feared you would wake and regret everything."
Regret? If only he knew.
"Garruk," I say, sliding my hands up to cup his face. "Last night wasn't a mistake. It wasn't confusion or fear or adrenaline. I wanted you."
His breath catches.
"And I still do. I always will."
The bond hums between us, warm and solid. I feel it so clearly now. He swallows hard. "Ava. You must choose with your full understanding, with clear eyes."
A low rumble shakes the cabin walls—not from him, but from outside. Garruk's head snaps toward the window, and he sits up in one smooth motion with instinct written in every line of his body.
"What was that?" I ask, my heart thudding.
"Snow shelf breaking." His voice is grim. "The storm may have shifted the upper ridge."
The avalanche risk. Of course.I pull myself upright, ignoring my ankle's protest. "Do we need to get out?"
"No." He stands and pulls on his pants, then crosses to the window. "We're safe here. But the path is gone, and the world won't let you descend today."
Something about the way he says it steals my breath—the world won't let you descend, like the mountain itself is closing the door behind me, like it wants me here with him.
I sit on the bed, watching him. His broad back, the scars along his side, the quiet strength in the way he holds himself, always ready to protect. Suddenly, everything crystallizes in my mind.
I love my work. I love the mountain. I love being out here where life feels real and raw and meaningful, and here, with him, I feel all of that amplified. Safe and seen and wanted in a way I've never let myself want before.
I don't feel trapped. I feelfound.
He turns back to me, unsure and waiting for my fear. Instead, I smile.
"Garruk," I say softly.
He goes very still.
"I know what I want."
His throat works. "Tell me."
"I want you."
His chest rises sharply.
"I want this cabin," I continue, the words coming easier now. "And waking up warm in your arms. And whatever this bond is."
He stares at me like he can't breathe.
"I choose it," I whisper. "I choose you."
For a heartbeat, he doesn't move or blink. Then he crosses the room in three long strides and drops to his knees in front of me so fast the air stirs my hair.
"Ava," he says, his voice shaking. "You choose to stay?"
"Yes."
"You choose the bond?"
