“Why?”
“Because if you’re injured, I need to know the extent of the damage. If you’re just complaining, I need to know that too.”
I sit back against the rock. Unlace the sneaker. My fingers are clumsy with cold.
I pull the shoe off. Then the sock.
My foot is a mess. A blister on the heel has burst, bleeding into the fabric. My ankle is swollen; the skin is tight and angry.
Diego kneels. He checks my knee, then takes my foot in his hand.
His palm is rough, calloused, but his touch is surprisingly gentle. His hands are warm. The heat seeps into my frozen skin, shocking and welcome.
He probes the ankle. “Does this hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Sharp pain or dull?”
“Throbbing.”
“Ligaments are strained. Not torn.” He checks the blister. “This needs to be taped.”
He opens his pack. Pulls out a roll of medical tape and a fresh pair of wool socks.
“Where did you get socks?”
“I pack for contingencies.” He starts taping my heel. His movements are precise. Efficient. “You have civilian feet. Soft. City shoes.”
“Sorry, I didn’t pack hiking boots for my abduction.”
He glances up. A flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Sarcasm is a good sign. Means you’re not in shock anymore.”
He finishes taping. It feels better. Tighter. Supported.
Then he pulls the wool sock onto my foot. It’s too big, swallowing my ankle, but it’s warm. So incredibly warm.
He does the other foot. Taping the hotspots before they blister.
“These will help,” he says. “But it’s still going to hurt.”
“I know.”
“I mean it, Cassie. It’s going to hurt like hell. Your muscles will cramp. Your lungs will burn. You will want to stop.” He pauses, his hands still holding my foot. He looks up, meeting my gaze. “You cannot stop. If we stop, they catch us. If they catch us, we die.”
It’s not a threat. It’s gravity.
“I won’t stop,” I say.
He holds my gaze for a second longer. Assessing.
Then he nods. “Okay.”
He releases my foot. The loss of contact is immediate. The cold rushes back in.
He stands and offers me a hand.
“Up.”
