“Oh, wow,” she whispered. “Guides’ orders. Very authoritative. I feel so safe.”
I let out a breath and smiled. “Please sleep.”
“Fine.”
She flopped dramatically onto her other side, and the tent swayed. For a few minutes, she went still, and I let myself drift. I wasn’t fully asleep, just that light doze guides develop from years of sleeping in unpredictable places.
But sometime after midnight, something tugged me fully awake.
A faint rustle.
A shiver.
A sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a small gasp.
I blinked my eyes open and turned my head.
Sienna was curled on her side, bundled tight in her bag, shoulders hunched, breath shaky. Her teeth weren’t fully chattering yet, but they were close.
“Sienna,” I whispered.
No response.
I pushed up onto an elbow. “Hey. Are you cold?”
Her eyelids fluttered. She gave a tiny, miserable nod. “My bag is failing me.”
“Because you brought a silent one instead of an insulated one.”
“Don’t sass me,” she whispered, but her voice trembled.
In the dim light from a lantern that was nearly dead but still flickering, I could see goosebumps rising over every inch of exposed skin. The temperature had dropped more than forecasted. Thirty-five degrees wasn’t dangerous with good gear, but with bad insulation?
She’d freeze.
“You should have said something earlier,” I said softly.
“I didn’t want to…” She winced as another shiver rippled through her. “I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle a little cold.”
“Sienna,” I murmured, “you went to Denali last year. Nobody doubts your toughness.”
She cracked a tiny smile, but it slipped away as her body trembled.
“Okay,” I said, decision made before logic could protest. “We’re breaking rule number one.”
Her eyes opened fully. “Separate sleeping bags?”
“Yeah.”
I hesitated.
She stared at me for a long second. “Carson, we really shouldn’t.”
“I know. But shivering through the night isn’t an option.”
She swallowed. “So what do you suggest?”
I inhaled, steadying the stupid, reckless pounding of my heart. “We combine the bags.”
