"We survived," she corrects me.
"No." I shake my head slowly. "You do not need me to survive, Reese. You are perfectly capable of walking out of this wilderness alone. You proved that today."
I lift one hand from the desk. I trace the line of her jaw with a single, calloused knuckle. She shudders at the contact.
"You are choosing to survive with me," I state the fact. It is the most terrifying truth I have ever spoken aloud.
She swallows hard. Her eyes lock onto mine. The bravado cracks just enough to show the vulnerable, lonely woman beneath the armor. The woman who decided long ago she would never need anyone again. The woman who just realized she is bound to a Costa shadow in the middle of nowhere.
"Maybe I am," she whispers.
The static on the radio behind her suddenly pops. A sharp, rhythmic squeal of interference breaks the silence of the cabin.
I pull back instantly. The watcher slams back into place.
I step around her, grab the plastic microphone attached to the rig, and hit the transmit button.
“This is a priority broadcast on an unsecured channel. Do you copy?” My voice is flat. Operational. Dead air answers.
Silence. Just the hiss of dead air.
"This is a priority broadcast. Do you copy?"
The static crackles. A faint, distorted voice leaks out of the speaker. It is heavily warped by the storm, practically indecipherable, but the cadence is human.
I tune the dial. I sharpen the frequency.
"...peat... coordinates..." the tinny voice bleeds through the noise.
Reese steps up beside me. Our shoulders brush. The contact grounds me.
"Broadcast received," I say into the mic. "We are stranded at Blackwood Ranger Station. Elevation eight thousand. Coordinate lock to follow."
I release the button. We wait.
The voice comes back. Sharper this time.
"...copy Blackwood. The weather is impassable. Sit tight. We are tracking your signature."
I recognize the protocol phrasing. It’s not the forest service. Not a civilian rescue operation.
I look at Reese. She reads my expression instantly.
"Who is it?" she asks quietly.
"My family," I reply. "They found us."
The extraction is coming. The real world is coming to breach the walls of this frozen sanctuary. The family, the old lead, the blood, and the long war are about to breach this cabin.
I look down at the gold watch on my wrist. The seconds tick forward. The pause is over.
I turn my head and look at the woman standing beside me. She is staring at the radio, her jaw set, her mind already calculating the next move. She does not look afraid of my world. She looks ready to conquer it.
Mine.
That is all there is to it.
I slip the Glock from my coat pocket and set it on the desk within her reach.
