Ava lifts her brow—translation:coward.
I grin back—translation:maybe, but I’m your coward.
***
Later, we trek up toward the ridge trail. The avalanche sensors glitter like small silver beetles on poles, blinking greenagainst the thawing landscape. Violet marches ahead with the confidence of someone who has faced down winter—and survived.
“You sure they’re going to stay put once everything melts?” she asks.
“I tested the anchors,” I assure her. “Twice.”
She nods, pretending that means nothing but her shoulders relax.
Ava touches one of the poles gently. “This is going to save lives.”
I swallow. “That’s the idea.”
She steps close enough that her arm brushes mine. “It already has.”
Yeah. It has.
A gust sweeps through, warm and damp, smelling of moss and sunlight. A raven wheels overhead, calling once like it approves of our renovation of its mountain.
Violet points her thumb back toward the cabin. “Can we go get hot chocolate now?”
Ava laughs, slipping her hand into mine in a way that feels so natural I hardly notice until my heart stutters. “Come on,” she says. “Our little survivor needs cocoa.”
“You’re little,” Violet mutters.
“I’m short,” Ava corrects. “There’s a difference.”
They bicker the entire walk back down. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
***
Evenings are different now.
No ghosts pacing the rooms. No fear in the shadows. Just warmth and noise and the occasional complaint about vegetables.
A life that is normal, except… nothing about it is.
After dishes are stacked and the porch lights flicker on, I settle into the swing next to Ava and we watch dusk gather the edges of the world. Violet sits on the steps, sketching the last scraps of daylight.
Ava rests her head on my shoulder. I breathe easier every time.
“I heard from my mother,” she murmurs after a while.
My eyes flick to hers. “Yeah?”
“She wants to visit this summer. Said she wants to meet the man who saved her granddaughter.” Ava pauses. “And the man who saved me.”
My heart trips. I look down at the wood grain beneath our feet. “I don’t know how to be that man in front of strangers.”
“You already are,” she says simply.
“You know,” she adds, “you could legally take your name back.”
I tense. Not because I don’t want to. Because I do. Too much.
