I duck under the overhang. The temperature rises fractionally. The space is tight. Maybe eight feet deep, six feet wide. Rock walls on three sides.
Defensible if you’re armed.
A trap if you’re not.
She stays near the entrance. Rifle still slung but accessible. Every line of her body broadcasting readiness.
We’re three feet apart.
I can hear her breathing even out now that we’ve stopped moving. Can see snow melting on her shoulders, darkening the coat. Can smell her despite the cold—that same scent that made my fire strain against the cuffs.
The wrongness hits again. Harder this time.
My body recognizes something my mind refuses to accept. Something the cuffs dampen but can’t eliminate. Some simple awareness that she’s—
I shove the thought down. Focus on facts.
Fact one: She could have killed me a dozen times.
Fact two: She hasn’t.
Fact three: That doesn’t mean she won’t.
Outside, the storm intensifies. Visibility drops to nothing. Wind screams through the trees.
She breaks first.
“You don’t get to die yet.”
The words land flat. Final. Not mercy.
Just postponement.
I meet her eyes. Hate simmers there, visible even in the dim light filtering through snow and shadow.
“Understood.”
She sits. Back against the rock wall. Rifle across her lap. Eyes never leaving me.
I lower myself to the opposite wall. Hands locked in cuffs. Dragonfire suppressed. Every advantage stripped away.
We watch each other.
Three feet of frozen air between us. I catch that scent with every breath. See the pulse beating at her throat. And my body keeps reacting in ways I can’t control and don’t understand.
She sees it. I know she does.
Her eyes narrow slightly. Her hand tightens on the rifle.
“Don’t.”
I don’t ask what she means. Just hold her stare.
Outside, the storm swallows the world. Inside this stone shelter, something else builds. Dangerous. Undeniable.
Neither of us looks away.
Chapter 6
