Three words. Simple. Devastating.
I trust you.
When was the last time someone had said that to me and meant it? When was the last time I'd let anyone close enough for trust to matter?
"Okay," I heard myself say. "Okay. We climb together."
His face lit up. Not triumph—relief. Pure, uncomplicated relief.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. We've got a long way to go, and you're probably going to hate me by the end of it."
"Doubt it."
"You have no idea how hard I can push."
"Looking forward to finding out."
I shook my head, but I was smiling. Couldn't help it. Something about his relentless optimism was contagious, even out here in the cold and the white and the howling wind.
"We need to move," I said, pulling back into mission mode. "There's a shelter about four miles north—an old ranger cabin. If we push hard, we can make it before the weather turns."
James nodded, adjusting his pack. "Lead the way."
I turned north and started walking. After a moment, I heard his footsteps fall into rhythm behind me.
The hum pulsed steady beneath my skin, no longer silent, no longer screaming. Just there. Present. A warmth I could carry without fighting.
Maybe that was enough for now.
We walked for two hours without speaking.
The terrain grew steeper, the snow deeper. James kept pace, though I could hear his breathing grow labored as the altitude climbed. He didn't complain. Didn't ask to stop. Just put one foot in front of the other, matching my stride.
Stubborn. So goddamn stubborn.
Just like me.
"There," I said, pointing to a dark shape huddled against the base of a rock face. "The cabin."
It was barely more than a shed—four walls, a roof, a door that hung crooked on its hinges. But it had a woodstove in the corner and enough firewood stacked outside to get us through the night.
We stumbled inside, and I set about making camp. Fire first—always fire first. Then water, melted from snow in a pot I'd carried from campus. Then food, such as it was. Energy bars and freeze-dried soup, split between us.
James sat against the wall, steam rising from his cup, watching me move through the routine.
"You've done this before," he said.
"Gregor—he ran the orphanage—he made sure I knew how to survive." I settled across from him, wrapping my hands around my own cup. "We spent a lot of time in the backcountry when I was growing up."
"He sounds like a good teacher."
"He was." I paused. "Is. He's not dead, he's just... far away."
James nodded, accepting this. Not pushing for more.
The fire crackled between us. Outside, the wind had picked up, rattling the cabin walls. We were safe here. Warm. Together.
