“Northeast ridge. Defensible position for extraction by helicopter.” I drop to one knee beside her chair, bringing us to eye level. “It’s a three-mile hike, uphill in deep snow. Not easy.”
“I can handle it.” Determination hardens her features. “Tell me what to do.”
I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture far more intimate than our current circumstances warrant. “We’ve got one shot at this. If anything happens to me?—”
“Don’t.” Her fingers press against my lips, silencing me. “Don’t say it.”
“Willow.” I take her hand, my thumb circling her wrist where her pulse flutters. “Listen to me. If we get separated, if things go wrong, you stay with Ryan. He will get you somewhere safe and get that evidence to people who can use it.”
She shakes her head, stubborn. “I’m not leaving you.”
“This isn’t about us. It’s about making sure Reynolds pays for what he’s done.”
“I know that.” Her voice firms. “But I’ve spent three years planning this. I survived him. I survived Drake. I’m not running scared anymore.”
Pride swells in my chest, unexpected and fierce. With her survival instincts and razor-sharp mind, this woman’s capacity to endure is extraordinary.
“Just promise me you’ll follow orders,” I say. “When things getchaotic, when decisions need to be made in split seconds, you need to trust me. Trust my team.”
“Yes, sir.” The formality in her tone carries an intimacy that hits low in my gut, stoking a fire I can’t afford to feed right now.
Cooper clears his throat, a subtle reminder that we’re not alone. “Perimeter’s clear for now. We’ve got maybe twenty minutes before we need to move.”
“Gear up. Martinez, you’re on point. Ryan takes the rear with me. Cooper, you’re with Willow. No one gets within fifty yards of her.”
Cooper nods, already moving to prep his rifle. I turn back to Willow, extending my hand to pull her to her feet.
“One more thing,” I say, voice pitched low for her ears only. “The flash drive. We need to duplicate it, spread the risk.”
She reaches into her pocket, producing the small device that’s cost her so much pain. Her fingers tremble slightly as she places it in my palm, the weight of years of evidence, of her suffering and courage.
“I’ll get it back to you,” I promise.
“It doesn’t matter.” Her eyes hold mine. “As long as he pays. As long as it was worth something.”
The lump in my throat makes it difficult for me to speak. I wrap my fingers around the drive, a silent vow to ensure her suffering wasn’t in vain.
We move quickly after that—packing essential gear, distributing supplies, checking weapons. Bear and Chaos sense the tension, staying close, their bodies vibrating with alertness. They’ll accompany us—Bear to break trail through the snow, Chaos to run security ahead and behind.
Ten minutes later, we stand at the cabin’s threshold. Six humans and two dogs preparing to traverse three miles of snowbound wilderness with unknown threats converging. Outside,the light paints everything in shades of silver, the snow gleaming like diamond dust.
“Ready?” I ask Willow, who now stands dressed in my spare winter gear, too large for her, but better protection against the elements than anything she arrived with.
She nods, eyes focused on the path ahead. “Ready.”
THIRTEEN
Mason
As we stepout into the snow, leaving behind the safety of my cabin, I can’t help but feel that Willow and I are crossing a threshold in more ways than one. Behind us lies the sanctuary we found in each other’s arms—a fragile, beautiful moment carved from fear and fire. Ahead lies uncertainty, danger, and a reckoning three years in the making.
Martinez takes point, gliding through the trees with an eerily silent gait. Cooper falls in beside Willow, rifle up, body shield angled subtly between her and every possible threat. Jackson moves behind them, scanning our six. Ryan and I bring up the rear, eyes always moving, weapons ready.
Bear leads the way, forging a path through the deep drifts like a living snowplow. The massive Newfoundland throws his full two hundred pounds into each step, muscles bunching beneath thick fur, breaking the crusted snow so we can follow without sinking knee-deep. His breath puffs in great white clouds, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth in sloppy, uncontainable happiness.
Despite the tension threading through our group, Bear radiates unfiltered joy—tail wagging in wide, snow-flinging arcs, earsflopping with each bounding step like he’s charging into battle and Christmas morning all at once. He snorts and snuffles as he barrels through the powder, occasionally glancing back as if to say,See? I got you. Just try to keep up.
It’s impossible not to feel lighter just watching him—like the big brute doesn’t know or care that we’re marching into danger, only that he’s leading his pack and doing exactly what he was built to do. With every joyful leap, he reminds me that sometimes, even in war, there’s room for something pure.
