“Her name’s Kayley. We rescued her a few weeks back. She’s living here with Gavin now, and her nephew, Aidan.”
Her eyes soften. “She looks… happy.”
“She is,” I tell her, then add before I can stop myself, “She fought like hell to be.”
Emma’s voice goes quieter. “I’m afraid Mia didn’t.”
The words are small. Barely spoken. But they hit me like a punch to the ribs. I don’t have comfort for that. I’m not good at it. So I do the only thing I know how to do. I keep walking. Keep her moving. Keep her from drowning in the dark.
Outside, the cold bites immediately. Snow crunches under our boots. The compound is lit by warm perimeter lights and the glow of cabins scattered like guarded hearts around the main lodge.
Emma tilts her head up, staring at the mountain line. “It’s… beautiful.”
“It’s isolated,” I correct.
“It can be both,” she says.
I open my mouth to argue, then shut it. Because she’s right.
She glances at me sideways. “Which one is yours?”
I point. “Far end.”
“Sure thing,” she mutters. “Broody men always live at the far end.”
“I live there because it’s strategic.”
“Strategic brooding.”
I ignore that.
We reach my cabin. I punch in the code, open the door, and usher her inside.
Warmth hits us. Fire crackling. Simple interior—clean lines, minimal clutter. A weapon mounted above the mantle. Boots lined neatly by the door. A couch that has seen more naps than it should admit.
Emma steps in and spins once, taking it all in. “Okay. This is… annoyingly cozy.”
“It’s not cozy,” I say automatically.
She points at the fire. “There’s a fire.”
“It’s functional heat.”
She points at the throw blanket folded perfectly on the couch. “There’s a blanket.”
“It prevents hypothermia.”
She points at a small shelf of books. “There are books.”
I glare. “I can read.”
Her lips twitch. “Didn’t say you couldn’t. Just didn’t expect you to have… literature.”
“It’s manuals,” I lie.
She walks closer and reads a spine. “That’s not a manual. That’s a romance novel.”
I feel my face heat. “It’s not mine.”