"Magnus." My name in her voice sounds like a question. Or maybe a prayer. "What are you? Really?"
I glance at her, letting her see the truth in my eyes.
"The kind of man who lives in places where people like you don't belong." I start the landing approach. "And now you're here anyway. Mine to protect. Mine to control. Mine to keep alive whether you like it or not."
Her breath catches. Fear and something else flickers across her face. Something darker.
She's starting to understand what she traded escape for.
"You got in my plane," I say, voice dropping lower. "That makes you mine now. And I don't let go of what belongs to me."
3
NEVE
The descent feels endless. My stomach lurches with every air pocket, every adjustment Magnus makes to the controls. I'm back on the seat near where I landed earlier, too focused on breathing through the adrenaline crash to care about dignity or appearances.
Through the window I catch glimpses of wilderness scrolling beneath us. Endless white interrupted by dark patches of forest and the occasional frozen lake. No roads. No houses. No signs of human habitation at all. Just emptiness stretching in every direction, beautiful and terrifying.
The clouds are lower now, heavier, pressing down on the landscape with the weight of the storm Magnus promised. Wind buffets the plane, making it shudder and dip. My hands grip the base of the seat, knuckles white, even though the rational part of my brain knows he's in complete control. Has been this entire time. Cold, competent, utterly unshaken by bullets or blood or the woman currently bleeding on his floor.
The plane banks and I see it. A cabin perched on the shore of a frozen lake, so remote it looks like it belongs to another century. Smoke rises from a chimney, which means someone maintains it, keeps it heated, uses it regularly. The lake stretchesbefore it, smooth ice perfect for landing if you've got pontoons instead of wheels.
Which he does.
Of course he does. Because Magnus prepares for every contingency, builds his life around them, probably has backup plans for his backup plans.
The pontoons kiss the ice with barely a jolt. He's that good. That precise. The plane glides across the frozen surface with a sound like metal on glass, slowing gradually until we come to rest maybe a stone's throw from the cabin's small dock.
The engine cuts. Silence settles over us, broken only by the wind starting to howl and my own ragged breathing.
"We're here." His voice is flat, stating the obvious. "Stay put until I tell you to move."
He's out of his seat and opening the door before I can respond, cold air rushing in to steal what little warmth the cabin held. He drops to the ice with easy confidence, boots finding purchase on the slick surface like he's done this a thousand times. Probably has. This is his world. His element. And I'm a stranger in it, dependent on him for survival whether I like it or not.
The rational part of my brain acknowledges that he saved my life. The terrified part remembers his cold eyes and colder words.'That makes you mine now.'Like I'm property. Cargo. Something to be claimed and controlled.
"Out." He's back at the door, looking up at me with no patience in his expression. "Storm's moving fast. We need to get inside."
I try to stand. My legs don't cooperate immediately, still shaking from terror and exertion and the bone-deep exhaustion that follows adrenaline flooding out of your system. I have to use the seats to pull myself up, and even then I sway when I reach the door.
Magnus doesn't offer to help. Just watches with those ice-blue eyes that miss nothing and reveal nothing. Waiting to see if I can manage on my own or if I'm going to be dead weight he has to carry.
I manage. Barely. The drop to the ice is longer than it looks and my ankle protests when I land, sending a sharp reminder of the injury I sustained during the chase. I bite back the gasp, refuse to show weakness, and straighten despite the pain.
"This way." He's already moving toward the cabin, carrying his go-bag like it weighs nothing. Expecting me to follow. Not checking to see if I am.
I follow. What else can I do? The wilderness stretches in every direction, white and empty and deadly. The storm is building, wind picking up, first flakes of snow already starting to fall. And I have nowhere else to go.
The cabin is sparse and functional. Built for survival, not comfort. A single main room with a kitchenette along one wall, a small wood stove radiating heat, a table with two chairs. Shelves lined with supplies. And weapons. So many weapons.
Rifles mounted on the wall. Handguns in a locked case. Knives of various sizes displayed with care that speaks of regular use and maintenance. This isn't a hunting cabin. This is an armory.
My eyes move to the other details. Radio equipment on a desk in the corner, professional grade. Maps tacked to the wall, marked with symbols I don't recognize. Coded notations. Flight paths, maybe. Or drop points. Or places he needs to avoid.
He's not just a pilot. He's deep into something criminal.
"Sit." Magnus gestures to one of the chairs at the table. Command, not request. "We need to talk."
