RAVEN POV
I woke to pale morning light slipping through the snow-covered window.
The cabin smelled like coffee.
Colton stood by the stove, heating water in a dented metal pot. He’d changed into dry clothes. He looked exhausted in a quiet way, like he’d been awake far longer than he should’ve been.
“You didn’t wake me for my shift.” I said, sitting up.
“You needed sleep more than I needed help.”
“That’s not fair. We agreed on shifts.”
“I changed the agreement.” He poured coffee into two metal cups. “You were actually sleeping. First time since you got here that you looked peaceful.”
My chest tightened.
How did he know I hadn’t been sleeping well? Has he been watching me? Or was it just obvious from the dark circles under my eyes?
I took the cup he offered. The coffee was instant, burnt, and awful.
It was perfect.
“How’s the storm?” I asked.
“Still bad. Might clear by tonight. Maybe tomorrow.” He sat on his bunk with his own cup. “I reached Robert on the satellite phone at dawn. Told him we’re safe but stuck here. He’s spreading the word.”
“I should call Skye.”
“Already did. Told her you’re fine.” He paused. “She said, and I quote, ‘Try not to kill each other.’”
Despite everything, I smiled. “That sounds like her.”
We drank our coffee in silence.
Not awkward.
Just aware.
“We should ration food." Colton said eventually. “If we’re here another day or two, we need to make it last.”
“Okay. What do we have?”
We checked the supplies again.
Six cans of soup. A box of crackers. A few granola bars. Instant coffee.
Not much. But enough.
“Two meals a day." Colton decided. “Soup for dinner. Half a granola bar for breakfast. Plenty of water.”
We.
The word settled in my stomach, warm and strange.
For now, we were a team. Even if it was only about surviving a storm.
The morning dragged on. We couldn’t go outside. Visibility was still near zero, and the wind was dangerous.
So we stayed inside.
I reviewed photos on my camera. Colton read a battered paperback someone had left behind, the cover long gone. We didn’t talk much, but we shared the space without tension.
Progress. Maybe.
By noon, the silence got heavy.
“Want to play a game?” I asked.
He glanced up. “What kind of game?”
“I don’t know. Twenty questions. Truth or dare. Something to pass the time.”
“Truth or dare sounds like a terrible idea.”
“Then twenty questions. I’ll start.” I thought for a second. “What’s the hardest part about being an Alpha?”
He closed the book. “That’s not a light question.”
“We’ve got time.”
He sighed. “Knowing that every decision I make affects three hundred people. There’s no such thing as a small mistake when that many lives depend on you.”
“Do you like it?” I asked. “Being Alpha.”
“That’s two questions.”
“Be generous.”
He almost smiled. “Most days, yes. I like protecting the territory. Helping people. Being part of something bigger.” His voice softened. “But sometimes I miss being nobody. Just Colton. Someone who could mess up without everyone paying for it.”
I understood that feeling more than I wanted to admit.
“Your turn." I said.
“What’s the best photo you’ve ever taken?”
A safe question. Easy.
“There’s one from Iceland." I said. “A puffin sitting on the edge of a cliff at sunset. Everything behind it was gold and orange. The puffin just sat there, staring at the ocean. Like it understood something we don’t.”
“Why that one?”
“Because it wasn’t just pretty. It felt true. About solitude. About knowing where you belong.”
I pulled the photo up and showed him.
He studied it for a long moment. “It’s beautiful,” he said quietly. “Really beautiful.”
“Thanks.” I tucked the camera away. “My turn again. What’s something you’ve never told anyone?”
He frowned. “That feels like breaking the rules.”
“It’s not the past.” I said. “It’s now.”
He stayed quiet so long I thought he’d dodge it.
Then he said. “I’m tired of being strong.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
“Everyone expects me to have answers. To never break. To always know what to do.” His jaw tightened. “Some days, I just want to tell them to figure it out without me.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because they need me not to break.” He looked at me then. Really looked at me. “If I break, they break.”
The bond stirred, aching and heavy.
“Your turn." He said. “What’s something you’ve never told anyone?”
I should’ve deflected.
I should’ve made a joke.
But after that kind of honesty, I didn’t have it in me.
“Every place I’ve traveled." I said, the words were spilling out before I could stop them." Every assignment I’ve taken, I pretended you were there with me.”
Colton didn’t react. He just watched me, unreadable.
“I imagined what you’d say about the view.” I went on. “What you’d want to photograph. Whether you’d laugh at the food or try everything. I acted like you were there, even when you weren’t.”
“Why?” He asked quietly.
“Because you were supposed to be.” My arms wrapped around myself. “We had plans. And even though I left, even though I rejected you, I couldn’t stop imagining the trips we were meant to take together.”
“That must’ve been lonely.”
“It was.” My throat tightened. “So lonely. But I told myself it was fine. That I chose it. That independence was worth the emptiness.”
“Was it?”
“No.” The word came out soft, but solid. Like a truth finally allowed to exist. “It wasn’t worth it. I thought I was brave for choosing myself. But I was just scared. Lonely. And I'm too proud to admit I’ve made a mistake.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Different from before. Loaded.
“We should eat.” Colton said suddenly, standing up. “Before we say something we can’t take back.”
He was right. We were standing too close to the edge.
He heated the soup. I laid out the crackers. We ate without speaking, but the quiet buzzed between us, alive.
The bond hummed low and constant. Stronger than it had been in days. Maybe it was honesty. Maybe the closeness. Maybe we’d just run out of ways to pretend we didn’t feel it.
Afterward, he went back to his book. I picked up my camera.
But I could feel him watching me.
“You keep staring." I said without looking up.
“Sorry.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
I glanced at him. “Liar.”
He sighed. “I’m thinking about how much easier this would be if I actually hated you.”
That made me look up.
He wasn’t angry. Or cold.
Just sad.
“I wish you hated me too." I said quietly. “It would be simpler.”
“Yeah." He said. “It would.”
The storm battered the cabin, but inside it felt frozen. Like we were stuck between two moments, unable to move forward or back.
“Colton—”
“Don’t.” He stood and paced to the window, putting space between us. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. We can’t. Not here. Not like this.”
“Can’t what?”
“Pretend this is something it’s not.” He didn’t look at me. “We’re stuck here because of the weather. That’s it. When the storm clears, we go back to our lives. Our boundaries. Forget what this feels like.”
“What if I don’t want to forget?”
He turned then, and the war in his eyes stole my breath. Want. Fear. Anger. All tangled together.
“Then you’re an idiot." He said. “Because there’s no future here, Raven. You’re leaving in two months. I’m staying. That’s how this ends. That’s how it always ends with you.”
“You don’t know that—”
“Yes, I do.” His voice cut sharp. “You’ve told me who you are. You have assignments waiting. A life somewhere else. When your three months are over, you’ll walk away again.”
“Maybe I won’t—”
“Don’t.” His voice broke just enough to hurt. “Don’t give me hope. Don’t promise what you can’t keep. I’ve survived that once. I won’t survive it again.”
He grabbed his coat.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Rule four.” He opened the door, cold air rushing in. “Taking a break before this gets worse. I’ll be right outside. Don’t follow me.”
The door slammed shut.
I sat there, shaking. Not from the cold.
From the truth.
He was right. I did have assignments. A life elsewhere. And I’ve been so focused on now on the project, on fixing things— hat I hadn’t thought about after.
Could I leave again?
Walk away from the pack. From him. Now that I remembered what home felt like?
Or was this just temporary? Something that would fade the moment I boarded a plane?
I didn’t know.
And that uncertainty was exactly what Colton feared.
I couldn’t promise to stay.
And he couldn’t trust me because I’d already proven I’d leave when things got hard.
We weren’t trapped by the storm.
We were trapped by history. Fear. A bond that refused to die but didn’t know how to live.
Colton came back ten minutes later, dusted with snow and shivering.
“You’re an idiot.” I said, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders. “You could’ve gotten hypothermia.”
“Better than what was about to happen here.”
“What was about to happen?”
He looked at me, and my stomach flipped. “You know.”
Oh.
Oh.
“We should sleep." He said, gently pulling away. “The storm might be clear by morning.”
He was right. The light outside was fading.
One more night.
We could survive one more night.
I climbed into my bunk while he tended the fire. We stayed on our sides, careful not to look at each other. Careful not to touch.
“Goodnight, Raven." He said softly.
“Goodnight, Colton.”
I closed my eyes.
But all I could see was the look in his eyes before he walked outside.
Want. Fear. Hope he was trying to kill before it destroyed him.
The same things twist inside me.
So I lay there in the dark, listening to him breathe across the room, and tried not to imagine what might’ve happened if he hadn’t walked away.
Tried not to wish he’d stayed.
I tried not to think about what two more months of this would do to us.
We were trapped.
By the storm.
By the bond.
By seven years of hurt and hope and history.
And I had no idea how we were supposed to survive it.
But we had to try.
Because the alternative giving in, crossing that line, letting ourselves hope.
That would break us both.
Wouldn’t it?