I sling the bag over my shoulder and rush back to the door and I stop dead.
Because holy crap.
Thatcher is out there in the storm, braced against the wind, hauling an extinguisher from a side compartment I didn’t even know existed.
He pulls the pin and unleashes a cloud of foam like he was born knowing how to do this.
White spray coats the generator, hissing and sputtering as the sparks die down.
Smoke thickens, then fades.
He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t flinch.
He handles it.
Like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.
Like a damn lumberjack firefighter carved out of the mountain itself.
The fire goes out.
The generator does not come back on.
The wind howls louder now that the danger has passed, like it’s mocking me.
And the realization hits hard and fast.
The generator is dead.
Which means the cabin is dead.
No power. No heat.
No place for me to stay.
“Oh crap,” I whisper.
And for the first time since I ran, I have no idea what happens next.
CHAPTER 19
THATCHER
I’m trying not to lose my fucking mind over what almost happened.
She was seconds away from touching that generator with her bare hands. Seconds.
One wrong move, one spark in the wrong place, and she could’ve been shocked clean off her feet.
Burned.
Killed.
The image hits me so hard my stomach twists.
If I’d been even a moment later—fuck no.
I don’t finish that thought.
