In. Out. In. Out.
A sound cuts through the wind, low and distant, but unmistakable.
Bolt’s bark.
My eyes snap open. My heart leaps so hard it hurts.
"Bolt!"
I push off the tree and stumble forward, boots slipping on uneven ground hidden beneath the snow. My arms pump for balance. My breath comes in gasps now, fogging thick in front of me.
The barking comes again, clearer this time. Closer.
Relief floods through me, dizzying and bright.
I push through a dense cluster of pines, branches scraping at my face, and nearly fall when the ground drops away more sharply than I expect. I catch myself hard on my hands, and snow soaks through my gloves instantly, burning cold against my palms.
I drag myself upright, gasping, and keep moving.
The barking is louder now.
And then I see him.
Bolt is sitting at the base of a massive pine, tail wagging lazily, snow crusted thick on his back and head like he's been there awhile. He looks completely unbothered, tongue lolling out, eyes bright.
Relief crashes over me so hard my knees almost buckle.
"You—" I start, voice shaking. "You stupid, stupid—"
That's when I see the man.
He's standing just beyond Bolt, partially obscured by the falling snow, and he's huge.
Broad-shouldered, thick-chested, wearing a heavy coat that makes him look even larger than he probably is. His arms are solid, his stance wide and grounded. A dark beard covers the lower half of his face, thick and well-kept, flecked with gray I can just make out through the snow. His eyes are pale blue, though it's hard to tell in the dim, snow-filtered light.
He's holding Bolt's leash in one large hand.
I freeze.
He doesn't move toward me. Doesn't speak. Just watches me with a stillness that feels calculated, like he's assessing something.
I don't know this man. I don't know where I am. I don't know how far I've gone or how long I've been walking.
But Bolt is sitting calmly at his feet, unbothered, like this man is trustworthy.
"That's—" My voice comes out thin and breathless. I clear my throat and try again, forcing steadiness I don't feel. "That's my dog."
"I know." His voice is low, rough-edged, quiet enough that I almost don't hear it over the wind.
He steps forward.
Instinct tells me I should back up. Should feel afraid. Should do something other than stand here shaking and staring.
But I don't move.
He closes the distance between us in three long strides and stops just in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to see his face properly. Up close, he's even bigger than I thought, radiating warmth I can feel even through the cold air between us.
Snow clings to his shoulders. His beard. The creases of his coat.
