She told herself that over and over as the day passed. The woman, named Ingrid as she later learned, checked on her, brought food, and asked careful questions about pain and dizziness. A doctor stopped by, clucked over her injuries, and once again declared her lucky.
Everyone did. And why did Ingrid call him a healer?
She must have run out of her luck because Jakob never appeared.
By late afternoon, the ache beneath Mallory’s ribs had nothing to do with bruises. It was hollow and sharp, a sense of something missing that she couldn’t quite name. She foundherself watching the door, listening for footsteps that never came.
Something had happened while she was unconscious. She felt it in her bones.
Night fell early in the mountains. Shadows crept across the room, and Ingrid lit a small lamp before she wished her good rest. Mallory lay awake long after and stared at the darkened window. She replayed the dream of flying in her mind until it no longer felt like one.
She woke the next time to sounds, but not a crackling fire, not quiet voices, but the low hum of heaters and distant footsteps.
Mallory sat up too fast and immediately regretted it. Her head swam as she tried to look around.
The room was wrong. Too clean. Too modern. Beige walls. A familiar abstract print she’d walked past a dozen times already this week.
Her resort room.
She stared at it as her pulse pounded. Her boots sat neatly by the door. Her jacket was draped over the chair like she’d placed it there herself. Her phone rested on the nightstand, plugged in and charging.
“How did I get here?”
The last thing she remembered was snow and blood and Ingrid.
Not this.
Not warm carpet under her bare feet when she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Not the faint scent of hotel detergent. Not the digital clock glowing 9:15 p.m.
There was no memory of leaving the hospital or whatever it had been. No memory of a ride or even of flying again. And no memory of saying thank you or goodbye to Ingrid or the doctor.
A chill slid down her spine that had nothing to do with temperature. She barely had time to process it before the door flew open.
“Mallory!”
Brooke crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed her shoulders, eyes bright with relief and furious all at once. “Where the hell have you been?”
Violet followed close behind with her arms folded tight across her chest. Her face was pale beneath her freckles and her jaw clenched hard. “Do you have any idea how scared we were?”
“I…I don’t,” Mallory said honestly. “I mean, I do, but,” She faltered and her words tangled. “I don’t remember getting back here.”
Brooke stared at her like she’d just spoken another language. “You don’t remember what?”
“Any of it,” Mallory said. “I went for a quick hike, and this cat, like a panther, attacked. I fell and hit my head. I woke up here after being in the hospital.” It sounded like a poorly written story even to herself.
Silence dropped heavily between them.
Violet let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Wow. That’s convenient.”
Mallory flinched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Violet said in a tight voice, “that this is the third time you’ve vanished without telling anyone where you’re going. And every time, Jakob is somehow involved.”
“What? I wasn’t even with Jakob.” At least not for the last couple of days.
Brooke finally released her and paced instead. “You disappear on the mountain. Jakob’s the one who ‘helped’ you. Then you vanish overnight and turn up back here thanks to Jakob. Then you go and disappear with no explanation for days.” She stopped and looked straight at Mallory. “Days, Mal. Are you that into him that you just leave us to worry?”
The question hit harder than any accusation.
