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“Wait, you know how to fly a plane?” I ask.

His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “Ah, yeah.”

A kitchen timer dings by the grill, and I concentrate very hard on my lasagna because I am not going to ask.

“You could come,” Nick says eventually. “If you want.”

Tess drops a spatula.

“What a lovely idea,” Marthe says, in the tone of a woman who is more than a little pleased with this development.

“How’s Damon these days?” Nick asks.

“Damon’s fine.” With a wave of her knife, Marthe goes back to slicing apples.

Nick looks at his mother for too long, then says to me, “Luca can take your shift tonight. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

Light snow covers the trees on the drive out to Marthe’s property. It turns her gorgeous ranch house into the set of a Hallmark movie.

When I spot the plane, I break out into a sweat inside my thermals and puffer jacket. It’s no bigger than those little model planes you get at the airport gift shop.

Nick’s opening up the side of the aircraft and climbing into the cargo hold while I talk myself into going through with this from the safety of his pickup.

You can do this, Ellery.

I get out and drag in a steady breath.

Statistically, you are much more likely to die in a car accident than on an airplane.

Or at the paws of a bear. I glance around. Nothing but a pristine snow-covered field. I’d rather get in that toy than find out if one of them missed the memo on hibernation.

“Um, is this thing safe?” I peer in after him. It’s stacked full with large coolers. Supplies for wherever we’re headed.

“Yeah.” Satisfied everything is where it should be, he crouches at the hatch and drops down onto the ground. “If you’re worried, you can drive my truck back to town.” His face is kind, concerned. He wants me to be sure about going on this trip. “It’s a small plane, and a long way from anywhere. Nobody would think less of you.”

“Is that you asking me not to come?”

He takes a moment to answer. “No.”

“Then I’m coming.”

Once we’re in the plane, and I’ve triple-checked I’m strapped in correctly, he hands me a headset and flicks switches on the dash. The propeller spins, building to a deafening roar. We bump across the field to a strip of dirt, and Nick lines us up for takeoff. It’s then I remember how much I hate heights.

“Nick?” I’m not sure he can hear me through the noise.

The plane rumbles down the runway, picking up speed. The end racing toward us, a line of thick trees waiting if we fail to lift. The wheels leave the ground, and we skate over the treetops into the clouds. I put my forehead to the window, like a masochist, unable to look away as it all drops out from under us, my stomach doing somersaults. I think I’m going to be sick.

His hand closes over mine. “Breathe.” His voice crackles through my headset. “It’s safe. I’d never put you in danger, Ellery.”

The press of his fingers is the only thing in this aircraft I trust.

“How far to Hollings?” I ask because talking is better than thinking about the ground.

“A bit over an hour.”

The sun is a smear on the edge of the horizon, pink streaks poking through. Below, the earth unrolls in every direction, a vast wilderness with no end in sight. Spruce, spruce, and more spruce. Snow packed onto branches, bare birch trunks between them. Rivers wind through it half-frozen, glinting where the light catches on the ice. No roads, no fences. Just miles and miles of untamed land.

An hour into the flight, his face tightens, and he grunts, letting go of my hand to press his palm to the center of his chest. He swings the plane wide to the right and holds it there, coming back around.