Ronan doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does, and he doesn’t care.
He just adjusts his grip, pulling me gently behind him as they start moving.
We climb through the tunnel system — concrete turning to rock, rock turning to ice. The air grows colder the closer we get to the exit. My legs shake, my breathing turning shallow again.
Ronan notices instantly.
He stops.
He cups the side of my face with the gentlest touch I’ve felt in months. “Lena. Look at me.”
I do.
His gaze is intense, fierce, and soft all at once. I’ve never seen a man look at me like that. Like I matter. Like I’m not just someone to rescue — but someone he crossed a mountain for.
“You’re safe,” he says. “Every step from here is out. You hear me? Out.”
My throat tightens. “I hear you.”
“Good.”
He steps closer. “Lean on me.”
I hesitate.
Not because I don’t want to — because I want it too much.
But my body answers first. I sway. He catches me instantly, pulling my arm around his waist, supporting nearly all my weight.
The others politely pretend not to notice.
Except Miles, who grins and murmurs, “Knew it.”
Ronan shoots him a look that could peel paint. Miles clears his throat and hustles ahead.
We keep moving.
Every noise — every drip of water, every clatter of gear, every echoing footstep — makes my heart jump. Instinct drilled into me during weeks of captivity.
Ronan feels it.
He shifts, putting his body between mine and every open space.
When we reach the final ascent ladder, he pauses again.
“Ronan…” I start, but he’s already scooping me into his arms.
I gasp. “I can climb that.”
“You could,” he says, “but you’re not going to.”
“Ronan—”
“Not negotiating, Hart.”
I could argue.
I don’t.
