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But I catch it.
“You’re losing heat,” I say.
“I’m fine.”
She’s not.
We’re both soaked. The temperature’s dropping fast. Wind cutting through everything.
Hypothermia doesn’t care how tough you are.
I shrug out of my jacket and step closer.
“Put this on.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “And I said put it on.”
She hesitates.
Just for a second.
Then takes it.
Our fingers brush.
Electric.
Again.
She pulls the jacket on, and it hangs on her—too big, too heavy.
Does something to me I don’t have time to analyze.
Focus.
Outside—
Voices.
Closer now.
I move toward the door, listening.
Three. Maybe four.
Spreading out.
Searching.
I glance back at her.
She’s watching me.
Not the door.
Me.
