The wind rattles the cabin like some restless animal. I can hear it in the eaves, in the thin boards, and I feel the echo of my own pulse in the silence. Elias moves away and sits on the cot, knees drawn up, green eyes sharp as ever. I keep my distance, though every part of me wants to cross the space and press him to me again. Control is instinct, but I bite it back. I need to let him see I am not forcing him, not this time.
“I shouldn’t have let jealousy rule me,” I admit, the words raw in my own ears. “Hartford took advantage of my weakness. He planted lies about you…about what you did, what you might do. It turned me into something I promised I’d never be.”
He doesn’t respond immediately. Just watches, and the weight of his gaze is heavier than any winter storm outside. The silence is long enough to sting. My chest aches, not from the cold, but from the rawness of admitting to him what I’ve been hiding from myself.
“You know, you really are something else, Lucian Romano. Always so controlled. Always so sure you can fix everything with words and a look. But you’re terrified, aren’t you?”
I blink, taken aback by the accusation, though I can’t deny it. “Terrified of what?”
“Of losing control,” he says, voice almost playful now, but sharp. “Terrified that someone like me, someone who actually has thoughts and feelings of his own, might slip through your fingers.”
I swallow, the truth heavy on my tongue. “Maybe I am.”
His lips twitch at the corner, and I see it, the smallest acknowledgment that he understands more than he lets on.
“I don’t want to run,” he says after a moment.
“I never wanted you to have to,” I reply.
Silence settles between us, but it’s different now. Not fractured. Steady.
“We’re leaving,” I say firmly.
He nods.
I reach into my coat and pull out my phone, shielding it from snow as I step toward the doorway.
Signal flickers weakly.
“Send the team,” I say into the line when it connects. “Cabin north quadrant of the forest. We need heat and transport.”
“How many?” the voice asks.
“Two,” I reply.
I hang up and step back inside.
Elias watches me carefully.
“Rescue team?” he asks faintly.
“Yes.”
He exhales.
I sit beside him on the cot and pull him close again, wrapping my coat around both of us as best I can.
We sit like that for a long while. Snow piles outside, the storm relentless, the cabin creaking under the weight. I watch him. The green of his eyes in contrast with the pale winter light filtering through the boards is almost hypnotic. He is alive, stubborn, defiant, and mine in the way that no one else could ever be.And yet, he is also his own man, and that is what makes this reconciliation delicate, dangerous, and real.
“You’re either incredibly brave or completely stupid.” Elias quips.
“Both,” I admit. “But right now, all I care about is you.”
He finally shifts, sitting up straighter. There’s a small spark in his eyes—the challenge, the defiance, the boyish fire I can’t resist. “Don’t think this means you get to keep me on a leash, either,” he warns, but the corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s fighting a smile.
“I don’t want to leash you,” I say, voice low. “I want to walk beside you. And if you’ll let me, maybe even protect you when the world gets too cruel.”
He studies me for a long moment, then shakes his head slightly. “You really do think you can fix everything, don’t you?”
