"Training accident. Rookie got sloppy during knife work." He catches my hand. Stops my exploration. "Your turn."
"My turn for what?"
"Tell me something." He pulls me up so we're face to face. "Something you don't tell people."
I consider deflecting. Making a joke. Keeping the walls up. But lying here with his marks on my skin and his certainty still echoing in my head, I want to be honest.
"I'm terrified I wasted months in the wilderness for nothing." The words come out quieter than I intended. "That I'll never get funding again. Never prove I can do this alone."
"Your research documented trafficking." His voice is matter-of-fact. "That's worth more than wolf data."
"But it wasn't supposed to be about that. I was supposed to contribute something meaningful to science. Instead I stumbled into this mess that destroyed everything."
"You found something that could save lives." His hand cups my jaw and forces me to meet his eyes. "That's not failure."
The simplicity of his view cuts through the complicated guilt I've been carrying. He's not wrong. The evidence matters. People matter more than my career.
"When did you get philosophical?" I try for lightness despite the emotion clogging my throat.
"I'm not philosophical. I'm practical." He kisses me. A gentle morning kiss that's different from last night's possessive claiming.
The radio crackles from the main room. Magnus goes still beneath me. Every muscle tenses. He's out of bed and moving before I can process. Naked and unconcerned as he crosses to where the radio sits on the desk near the window.
I wrap the sheet around myself and follow. Watch him scan through frequencies with practiced efficiency.
"—weather window opening. Visibility improving. Resume search patterns at first light tomorrow. Priority targets: cabins within fuel range of last known position. Reward stands for recovery of witness and evidence."
Magnus's face goes hard. Flat and emotionless in a way that makes my stomach drop. He switches frequencies. More chatter. Coordinates being discussed. Search grids being assigned.
"Storm's breaking." His voice is clipped. Professional. "They'll be mobilizing. We have maybe a day before they can fly search patterns over this area."
"Then we need to move." I'm already calculating. "Get to authorities. Turn over the evidence before they find us."
"No." One word. Absolute.
"What do you mean, no?" Frustration flares hot and sharp. "I have evidence that can save people. How long do I hide?"
"Until I know you'll survive the trip." He turns to face me. Cold calculation in his eyes. "Weather's marginal. Flying now issuicide. Snowmobile will get us to another cabin. More remote. Harder to find."
"So I run. Again. While women are being trafficked because I'm too scared to fight."
"You're not scared. You're smart." He crosses to me. Cups my face with both hands. "The evidence matters. But you matter more. Dead witnesses can't testify."
"And if I wait too long? If they disappear the operation before I can report?" My voice cracks. "Those women don't have time for me to hide."
"Then we make sure you survive long enough to save them." His thumbs stroke my cheeks. "Trust me to keep you alive."
"You're not asking me to trust you. You're asking me to prioritize my safety over their rescue. You're asking me to live with knowing I could have acted sooner."
"I'm asking you to be alive to do anything at all." He drops his hands. Steps back. "We move in an hour. I’ll pack what we need."
He walks away. Discussion over. Decision made. I'm left standing there with a sheet wrapped around me and anger mixing with fear mixing with something deeper I don't want to name.
He's protecting me. The possessiveness isn't just about sex. The planning isn't just operational. He's invested beyond necessity. I can see it in the tension of his shoulders. The way he won't meet my eyes when he talks about keeping me alive.
And I'm invested too. The man who took me against a wall and then spent last night learning my body like he was memorizing a map. The man who bites hard enough to bruise and then holds me while I sleep. The man who's planning to keep me alive whether I agree with his methods or not.
That realization sits heavy in my chest. Not comfortable. Not safe. Just real and undeniable and terrifying in ways the traffickers never were.
