She didn’t argue, which told him more about her condition than any complaint would have. Rue never agreed to rest unless she was running on fumes.
He pulled out two of the emergency rations from the cache, handing one to her. The packaging crackled in the cold as he tore it open, releasing the chemical heat pack inside. Within seconds, warmth radiated through the pouch.
“Beef stew,” he read from the label. “Could be worse.”
She didn’t have a smart remark, which worried him as he settled down beside her.
They ate in companionable silence, sharing body heat in the small space. The warm food helped, sending energy back into his limbs, but it also made him acutely aware of how cold theyboth were. Rue’s lips had a faint blue tinge, and her bare hand trembled slightly as she ate.
“Let me see your hand,” he said when she finished.
“It’s fine.”
“Rue.”
She sighed and extended her hand. The skin was pale, almost waxy, and when he pressed his thumb against her fingernail, it took too long for the color to return. Early stage frostbite.
“Shit,” he muttered, already digging through the first aid kit. He found what he was looking for—chemical hand warmers. He activated two of them, pressing one into her palm and wrapping her fingers around it.
“That’s better,” she said after a moment, some color returning to her cheeks.
He kept hold of her hand, rubbing circulation back into her fingers. Her skin was soft beneath the calluses from years of climbing and adventure sports, and he found himself memorizing the feel of it. When this was over—if they made it out—would she let him hold her hand again? Or would they go back to their careful dance of almost-touches and unspoken words?
Dangerous thoughts.
He slid off his glove. “Here, take mine.”
She shook her head. “It’s too big. I won’t be able to grip anything.”
He flattened out her hand and slid the glove on over the warmer. It was too big. “At least wear it while you warm up.”
Rue flexed her fingers inside his glove, the movement slow and awkward, but at least they’d be protected. “This is ridiculous. You’ll freeze.”
Without his glove, his hand already burned in the cold. He tucked it inside his jacket, against his chest. “I run hot,remember? Wear it to warm up, and we’ll switch off if we need to.”
Her eyes softened for a moment, vulnerability flickering across her face before she tucked it away behind her usual bravado. “Ever the hero, huh, Wilde?”
“Not a hero. Just practical.” He wasn’t being heroic—he was being selfish. The thought of Rue losing fingers to frostbite made his stomach twist in ways that had nothing to do with practicality and everything to do with how he felt about her.
They sat together in silence until they finished their stew. Despite the circumstances, it was nice, sitting here sharing a meal with her. He caught himself staring at the curve of her mouth in the pale glow of his headlamp. Even here, trapped in a frozen cathedral beneath tons of ice, exhausted and hypothermic, she was beautiful. He’d always thought so, ever since he was old enough to notice such things. He remembered it so clearly—that summer when they were both sixteen. He’d gone with his dad to the HORNET training compound in Wyoming, and they’d stayed all summer while Dad taught advanced combat skills to new recruits. Rue had spotted their truck rumbling up the long drive to her family’s home and had raced them on horseback, her honey-colored hair streaming behind her as she leaned closer to the horse’s neck.
No saddle.
No reigns.
Just wild, untamed, unstoppable Rue. She’d jumped a fence just to show she could and landed with a whoop that made something in his chest ache with longing.
Even back then, she’d been fearless. Even back then, he’d been careful.
She beat them to the house and slid off the horse to greet them, wearing nothing but tiny jean shorts and a bikini top, herfeet bare, and if Elliot was honest with himself, that was the moment he fell in love with her.
“What are you thinking about?” Rue asked, her voice pulling him back to their frozen reality.
“Nothing,” he lied, pushing to his feet, ignoring the protest from his knee. “We should move. The longer we wait, the colder we get.”
Rue stood, testing her weight on the wrapped ankle. She grimaced but didn’t complain. “Let’s do this.”
They approached the vertical shaft, and he scanned the rock face for the best route. The anchors created a zigzag pattern up the chimney. With proper climbing gear, it would’ve been challenging but straightforward. With their limited equipment and injuries, it would be a nightmare.
