Slick coat. Camera bag. Cold smile.
The reporter.
“Jackson Hale,” the reporter says, aiming his voice like a bullet. “Took me a while to confirm, but—”
I sit up. Slowly, but with steel.
Ava straightens, stepping between us, her body language shifting from caregiver to something far sharper.
“I told you,” she says, voice low and lethal. “It’s Jax.”
He ignores her. His lens lifts like a drawn gun.
“How does it feel to fake your death—”
Tom moves first. Ellie a half-step behind. Two more rangers follow without hesitation—forming a tight line, boots planted, shoulders squared like they’ve practiced this a thousand times.
Tom’s expression is a study in patience that hasexpired.
“You’re lost,” he says flatly.
The reporter scoffs. “No. I’m exactly where I need to be. I just want to talk to Jackson—”
“See,” Tom interrupts, glancing around at the others, “we don’t seem to have anybody here by that name.”
Ellie folds her arms. The third ranger shrugs, bored. The fourth tilts his head toward me, unimpressed by the intrusion.
“Silver Ridge is a small town,” Tom continues, voice deepening into warning. “Real close-knit. We don’t much appreciate outsiders driving up here in dangerous weather just to stir up trouble or dig up gossip that ain’t wanted.”
“I’m not stirring anything,” the reporter snaps. “I’m here for a story.”
“Then go write about the avalanche risk,” Ellie says coolly. “Or how our search teams run into blizzards during dinner breaks.”
The third ranger jerks a thumb toward me. “He risked his life for that girl. That’s the kind of story worth telling.”
“He’s one of ours,” Ava says—cutting straight through him like a knife.
Not a whisper. Not an apology. A claim.
Something in the reporter’s eyes flickers—maybe confusion, maybe resignation—as he realizes there isn’t a single open angle to get his shot.
“This is obstruction,” he tries, voice thin.
“No,” Tom says, stepping forward, his height blotting out the reporter’s bravado, “this is your warning. Pack up that fancy camera and walk away before I help you do it. You’re already one bad decision away from being a search-and-recovery headline.”
For the first time since he stormed in, the reporter hesitates.
Then he lowers the camera.
“I’ll be back,” he mutters, weak threat barely making it past his lips.
“No,” Ava says — every inch of her fierce and unshakable. “You won’t.”
And she means it.
He retreats, the door slamming behind him—swallowed by wind and snow and the mountain that does not tolerate parasites.
Silence pools in his absence. Warm. Bright. Safe.
