Drew stood on the deck with his back to me.
Black hoodie. Gray beanie. Broad shoulders hunched slightly against the cold. Axe in one hand. A log on the block in front of him, untouched.
Jace had not exaggerated.
He was staring at it like it had personally disappointed him.
Snow fell lightly around him, catching in the dark fabric of his hoodie. Beyond the deck, the mountains stretched huge and silent, everything white and blue and pine-dark.
For one second, I couldn’t move.
Because I had missed him so much it hurt physically.
“Drew,” I said.
His whole body went still.
Slowly, he turned.
His face changed.
Shock first.
Then pain.
Then nothing.
He set the axe down carefully against the railing.
Carefully.
Like if he moved too fast, the whole world might crack.
“What are you doing here?”
Not angry.
That would have been easier.
He sounded tired.
Guarded.
Like he had spent every hour since he left convincing himself I wouldn’t come, and my standing there in the snow was an inconvenience to all his hard work.
I stepped onto the deck.
Cold bit straight through my boots.
“I came to talk to you.”
“You could’ve called.”
“You wouldn’t have answered.”
His jaw flexed.
No denial there.
