He studies me. His eyes travel over my face, lingering on my mouth. "I don't trust you with the gun, Elodie," he says, his voice low. "I trust the gun to protect you when I can't."
He steps closer, closing the distance between us. The rifle swings at his side. "You think I'm teaching you to be a soldier," he whispers, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His fingers are cold. "I'm not. I'm teaching you to be a survivor. Because the world I dragged you into... it doesn't forgive weakness."
"I'm not weak anymore," I vow.
"I know," he says. And there is pride in his voice. "I saw you stitch my skin. I saw you hold the recoil." He leans down. He kisses me. It is a hard, cold kiss. His lips are chapped. "You are becoming dangerous,petite. It turns me on."
He pulls back, a smirk ghosting on his lips. "Let's check the north ridge. Then we go back. I believe I promised you a lesson in anatomy if you passed the shooting test."
I flush, heat blooming in my cheeks despite the cold. "I thought you were dying of sepsis."
"I heal fast," he lies. "Come on."
He turns back to the path. I follow him. We walk another hundred yards. The trees begin to thin out near the ridge. Suddenly, Alaric stops. He stops so fast I almost bump into him.
He doesn't speak. He doesn't move. He just stares at the ground.
"What is it?" I whisper, sensing the shift in his energy. The relaxed predator is gone. The hunter is back.
Alaric raises his hand.Silence.He points to the snow.
I look down. At first, I don't see it. Just the undisturbed white blanket. Then, I see the anomaly. Near the base of a massive oak tree, the snow is disturbed. Not a footprint. A depression. Small. Rectangular.
Alaric crouches down, his movements silent. He brushes the snow away from the depression. Beneath the fresh powder, the snow is packed down hard. And in the center of the depression, there is something grey. Ash.
Alaric touches it with his finger. He brings it to his nose. "Tobacco," he whispers.
My stomach drops. "You don't smoke."
"No," he says, his voice deadly quiet. "I don't."
He stands up slowly, his eyes scanning the trees. He unslings the rifle, clicking the safety off. "Someone was here," he says."Recently. Within the last hour. The fresh snow barely covered it."
"Maybe a hiker?" I suggest, though hope feels foolish. "A hunter?"
Alaric moves to the tree trunk. He inspects the bark. He traces a mark on the wood. It’s faint, scratched into the moss. A symbol. An eye inside a triangle.
"Not a hunter," Alaric says. The color has drained from his face completely. He looks at me. "It’s a marker. Special Reconnaissance. They were scouting the perimeter."
"Who?"
"The Syndicate," he spits the word like a curse. "Vance's partners. They found us."
"But the sensors..."
"They bypassed them," Alaric realizes, looking back at the sensor box on the nearby tree. "They didn't trip them because they hacked the loop. The green light is a lie."
He grabs my arm. "We have to go. Now."
"Back to the house?"
"No!" he hisses. "If they scouted the perimeter, the assault team is already moving in. The house is a kill box. It’s made of glass, Elodie. We’re sitting ducks."
"Then where?"
"The helicopter," he says, pulling me back the way we came. "We have to get airborne. Before they set up the anti-air."
We run. We don't walk. We sprint through the snow. The silence of the forest is no longer peaceful. It is menacing. Every shadow looks like a gunman. Every snapping twig sounds like a boltaction. My breath tears at my throat. My boots slip on hidden ice. Alaric drags me, his grip on my arm bruising. He is ignoring his pain, ignoring the sepsis. He is in full combat mode.
