"You blame yourself?" she asked.
"Some days, yeah. But then I see what we’re doing here. The animals. Olivia. Davey. You. And I start to think maybe there’s still good in me worth showing."
Natalie reached out, her fingers brushing his. Her skin was cool, his warm, and the connection made her chest ache.
"There is, Mason. I see it every day."
The touch lingered. Neither of them moved to break it. Outside, the forest exhaled under the stars. A soft snow began to fall, barely visible in the moonlight but brushing the windows with silver.
Mason shifted, his voice quieter now. "When I was a kid, we moved every couple of years. My dad was military, and my mom... well, she did her best, but it was hard on all of us. I was the quiet one. Found more peace in the woods than in the house. Started bringing home injured birds and squirrels. My mom tolerated it until one day I brought home a fawn with a broken leg. That’s when she said enough."
Natalie smiled gently. "You were a rescuer even then."
"I think I’ve always needed to fix things. Even people. Maybe because I didn’t know how to fix myself."
She turned to him, touched by the vulnerability in his voice. "You’re not broken, Mason. You just carry your pain like a coat you forgot how to take off."
He let out a soft laugh. "You’re good with words."
"Only because I’ve lived them."
She shifted slightly, drawing her knees to her chest, the blanket now draped over both their legs. "I grew up in a smalltown outside of Asheville. My mom ran a bakery. My dad worked construction. We didn’t have much, but there was a little wood behind our house, and that’s where I always went. I found an injured barn owl there when I was eleven. Nursed it back to health in a cardboard box in my closet."
"Did your parents know?"
"Eventually. My mom cried when I let it go. Said I had a gift."
Mason smiled. "She was right."
Natalie looked away, blinking quickly. "She died not long after. Cancer. I think that’s when I knew I wanted to dedicate my life to giving second chances. To animals. To people. To myself."
He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You’re doing that now."
They sat in the glow of the lanterns, their childhood memories unraveling into the quiet, into each other. And when Natalie rested her head against Mason’s shoulder again, she felt not just warmth, but understanding. The kind born of shared pain and quiet resilience.
The hush of the forest outside was broken by the sudden creak of the rehab facility’s door. Natalie and Mason looked up, their shared warmth folding into a ripple of alertness when they heard movement. Davey stood in the doorway, his hood pulled up, shoulders tense, cheeks red from the cold. He looked between them, gaze flicking from Natalie’s hand still close to Mason’s on the blanket, then back to their faces.
"Sorry," he said, but there was urgency behind his breath. "Mom’s upset. She wants to see you both. It’s important."
Mason was already rising, grabbing his coat from the hook by the door.
Natalie stood more slowly, her heart sinking. "What happened?"
Davey shrugged but the stiffness in his voice betrayed theanswer. "It’s the council. The conservation thing. It’s getting worse. People are talking. About shutting us down."
They hurried through the cold, late spring snowflakes tumbling gently through the beam of Mason’s flashlight as they made their way up to the main lodge. Inside, the heat was turned up, and the scent of herbal tea clung to the air.
Olivia was in the armchair by the hearth, wrapped in a quilt, her injured leg elevated and cushioned by pillows. Her face was pale, lips drawn tight, a clipboard of notes resting beside her untouched.
She looked up when they entered. "Thanks for coming. I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t serious."
Natalie stepped forward first, crouching beside her. "What’s happened?"
Olivia handed her a folded email printout. Natalie read quickly, heart tightening.
Local Wildlife Management Board Considering Permit Review Amid Community Complaints
