The cabin is dim, gray pre-dawn light filtering through gaps in the shutters. The storm has passed, leaving silence broken only by Finn's breathing and the occasional creak of timber settling in the cold. The wood stove has burned down to embers, and the temperature has dropped enough that I can see my breath when I exhale.
Getting up would be the smart move. Rebuild the fire, start preparing for the drive back to Glacier Hollow. We've got evidence to deliver to Zeke, a case to build, limited time before whoever pulled Tom's files realizes I'm actively investigating in Alaska.
But I don't move. I stay exactly where I am, soaking in the warmth of Finn's body and the unfamiliar comfort of not being alone.
Last night changed things. Not just the sex, though that was intense enough to leave marks on my shoulders where the rough timber wall pressed into my skin. But the vulnerability. The trust. The fact that I opened up about Stormwatch, about the weight of being blamed for something I didn't do, and he didn't flinch. Didn't judge. Just listened and understood because he's carried his own version of the same burden.
I'm falling for him. The admission scares me more than Jake's warnings or the Marshal's reach. Three days ago, he was a stranger making supply runs through the backcountry. Now he's the man I'm trusting with my life, my investigation, my truth. The man whose hands know exactly how to make me come apart, whose voice in my ear grounds me when panic threatens to take over.
And I'm still keeping some of my cards close to my chest. Not the important things—he knows I'm a fugitive, that I was framed for Stormwatch, that I'm investigating Tom's murder and the trafficking network.
Finn shifts behind me, his breathing changing as he begins to wake. His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer, and I feel him press his face into my hair. For a moment, neither of us moves. We just exist in this space between sleep and waking, where the complications of our situation haven't fully reasserted themselves.
"Morning," he murmurs against my neck, voice low and rough with sleep.
"Morning."
He's quiet for another breath, and I can feel the moment when uncertainty creeps in. The question of whether last night was just physical need or something more. Whether the intimacy we shared in desperation translates to anything beyond the temporary shelter of this cabin.
Then he answers that question by rolling me onto my back and kissing me thoroughly. No hesitation, no regret, just his mouth claiming mine with the same intensity he brought to everything last night. His hand cups my jaw, thumb stroking across my cheekbone, and when he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark with want.
"No second thoughts?" I ask, hating how vulnerable the question sounds.
"None." He brushes his lips across mine again, softer this time. "You?"
"No." The word comes out steadier than I feel. "But we should probably get moving. Storm's passed, and we've got evidence to deliver."
"Practical." His mouth curves slightly. "Even after last night."
"Especially after last night." I push at his shoulder until he moves enough for me to sit up. Cold air hits my bare skin and I reach for my thermal layer, pulling it on quickly. My muscles protest the movement, a deep ache in my thighs, soreness across my shoulders. Physical evidence of exactly how we spent the night against that rough timber wall. "We're partners now. That means keeping each other alive takes priority over staying in bed."
"Partners." He tests the word, watching me with an intensity that makes my pulse kick up. "Is that what we are?"
"You're helping me investigate a trafficking network. You believed me when I said I was framed. You spent the night inside me against a cabin wall. What would you call it?"
His eyes darken, but there's amusement in the curve of his mouth. "When you put it that way. Partners works. For now."
For now hangs between us, suggesting temporary, suggesting there might be more later, suggesting he's willing to see where this goes despite all the reasons it's a terrible idea.
I should shut that down. Tell him this can't be anything beyond tactical alliance and physical release. Remind both of us that I'm a fugitive with a target on my back, that anyone close to me becomes collateral damage if the Marshal's people find me.
But I don't say any of that. I just finish getting dressed and start rebuilding the fire while Finn pulls on his clothes with the same efficient movements that probably served him well during military service.
We work in comfortable silence, moving around each other in the small space with an ease that shouldn't exist between two people who've only known each other for days. He packs up the emergency supplies while I fold the blankets we used, returning the cabin to the state we found it in. His hand brushes mine when we both reach for the same evidence case, and the contact sends heat through me despite the frigid air.
"You okay?" he asks, studying my face.
"Sore," I admit. "But in a good way."
His gaze drops to my shoulders where I know the wall left marks, then back to my eyes. Something passes between us, acknowledgment of what we shared and the fact that neither of us regrets it.
Outside, the world has transformed overnight. Fresh snow blankets everything in pristine white, unmarred except for animal tracks leading into the tree line. The storm has cleared completely, leaving behind a sky so blue it hurts to look at.Sun reflects off the snow with blinding intensity, and I dig my sunglasses out of my bag before the glare gives me a headache.
Finn loads the evidence cases into the truck bed, securing them under a tarp with practiced efficiency. His breath forms clouds in the frozen air, and I watch the way he moves, economical and precise, every motion serving a purpose. This is who he was in the military, I think. The man who kept his crew alive through methodical attention to detail.
My boots crunch through six inches of powder as I walk to the passenger side. Wind cuts through my jacket, carrying the sharp scent of pine and clean snow. By the time I climb into the cab, my cheeks sting from cold and my fingers have gone numb even inside my gloves.
We're on the road twenty minutes later, the truck cab warming slowly as Finn navigates the snow-covered logging road back toward civilization. Morning sun is bright against fresh powder, making everything glitter. Beautiful surfaces hiding treacherous ice underneath.
