I turn away from where he's pulling on clothes with military efficiency and start gathering some things. Arguing won't change his mind. We both know it. But the anger simmers underneath. The frustration of being protected when what I need is to act.
He's at the door with gear already packed when I finish dressing. His expression is unreadable. All operator now. No trace of the man who whispered'mine'against my skin last night.
"Ready?" he asks.
I shoulder my pack. Meet his eyes. Let him see that I'm going along with this but I'm not done fighting. "Ready."
His mouth tightens. He knows what that tone means. He knows we're not finished with this argument. But right now, survival takes priority over resolution.
He opens the door to a world of white. Snow and silence. The calm after the storm that won't last.
We step out together into the cold.
8
MAGNUS
The cold hits like a physical blow. Subzero temperatures make lungs burn with each breath. Wind cuts through layers like they're nothing. Snow stretches in every direction, pristine and deadly in the weak morning light.
I move toward the lean-to where the snowmobile sits under its tarp. Neve follows without a word. The anger's still radiating off her. The frustration of being protected when she wants to act. I don't care about her anger. I care about keeping her breathing.
The tarp comes off stiff with ice. I check the machine with practiced efficiency. Fuel levels. Oil. Track condition. Everything mechanical that could fail us in the middle of nowhere. Neve loads our packs onto the cargo rack and straps them down with precise movements. No wasted motion despite the cold making her fingers clumsy.
"Where exactly are we going?" Her voice cuts through the wind.
"North. Off-grid location about at least a day's travel… if we’re lucky." I finish my inspection and swing onto the machine. "Get on."
She climbs on behind me. Her arms wrap around my waist. The weight of her against my back is grounding in a way I don't want to examine. I start the engine. The roar shatters the morning silence. We pull away from the cabin that's been my base for three years.
I don't look back.
The terrain is brutal. The storm left drifts that slow us down even with the powerful machine. I navigate by landmarks and instinct. No GPS. No technology that can be tracked. Just knowledge of the land and the awareness that every mile we cover is one more between us and the hunters.
The hours drag. The cold seeps through gear designed for arctic conditions. Neve's grip on my waist stays firm. She doesn't complain. Doesn't ask to stop. Just endures with the same toughness that's kept her alive this long.
I'd burn the world down to keep her safe. The thought surfaces without warning, visceral and absolute. I'd hunt down every man who put money on her head and make them understand what happens when you threaten what belongs to me.
The intensity of that drive is dangerous, the kind of obsession that compromises judgment and makes you act rashly based on wanting instead of thinking.
I still don't care.
Around midday, I kill the engine. We're in a valley between ridges with protection from the wind and good visibility in all directions. As safe as anywhere in the open.
"Break." I climb off. "Fifteen minutes. Eat. Drink."
She dismounts stiffly. The cold's gotten into her joints despite the layers. She pulls emergency rations from her pack and shares them without being asked. We eat standing up, consuming calories more than food, fueling bodies pushed to their limits.
"This off-grid location." She's studying the terrain. Always analyzing. "What is it?"
"A compound. Fortified. Run by someone who values privacy."
"Someone you trust?"
"Someone who won't turn us away." I check my watch. Calculate distance and daylight. "He's not social. But he'll help."
"He?" She catches the pronoun. "Who is he?"
"Zeb Cross." I meet her eyes. Watch for recognition.
