Chapter Forty-Six
Jackson
We don’t speak for almost a full minute after the voice disappears. Not because there’s nothing to say—but because sound feels like something that would break us. The cold presses against us like a weight, heavier now, sharper. Winter has changed its shape.
Caleb is the first to move. He steps backward slow, controlled, not turning his back to the slope.
“Northwest,” he murmurs. “We take the low ravine out. Terrain’s harder to navigate from above there.”
I nod once. “Linc, take right perimeter. Dal, left. Bos—”
“I know.” Boston’s voice is steel. Unshakable. “Rear sweep. Eyes on the slope.”
He positions himself exactly where he needs to be. Exactly where I knew he would.
Brooklyn is still against me—light, almost weightless. Not unconscious, just stunned. I lower my voice so it’s only for her.
“Hey. Look at me.”
Her eyes rise slowly. They’re not tearful. They’re not panicked. They’re something worse—remembering.
“You’re doing everything right,” I tell her. “You keep breathing and you stay with me. That’s all you need to do.”
She swallows. “I know his voice.”
I don’t hesitate. “Okay.”
She waits—like she expects denial, or fear, or some awful realization.
But recognition is not revelation.
I just nod once and speak again, steady enough to lend her my pulse, “You don’t have to explain anything yet. Let's just focus on getting out. One step at a time. You walk and I'll stay with you.”
Her hand closes lightly in the fabric of my sleeve. Not clinging. Just connecting. A tether.
We begin to move.
The snow underfoot is thin and crusted, each step punching through into the softer layer beneath. The cold is settling deeper now, the kind that bites down into bone. Clouds are forming overhead fast—too fast—thick gray masses sliding over the sky with unnatural speed.
“It’s dropping,” Linc calls softly from the right tree line. “Pressure shift. Hard.”
Dal echoes from the left: “We’ll lose visibility in twenty.”
We don’t have twenty.
We move faster—not reckless, not loud—just efficient. Controlled speed.
The forest watches us leave.
We descend the ridge toward the ravine Caleb chose. The slope is uneven, rooted and stone-skinned beneath the snow. Brooklyn’s breath gets shorter halfway down. I shift to support her arm, not pulling her, just redistributing weight. She matches me step for step.
She’s still fighting.
We reach the ravine basin—narrow, shielded by rock and tangled fallen logs. It’ll buy us cover from above, but it also limits escape paths. A trade-off. We all know it.
Linc signals a halt with one lifted hand.
We freeze.
The forest is no longer silent.
Now it’s listening.
A sound moves along the ridge above us—not footsteps.
Not branches breaking.
Not breath.
But awareness shifting.
Like someone pacing just out of view.
Dal speaks, barely audible, “He’s shadowing us.”
Not following.
Shadowing.
A hunter keeping pace with his prey.
Not rushing.
Not chasing.
Just staying where we can feel him.
Brooklyn presses closer to me. Not from fear—from knowledge.
She knows how he moves.
Caleb turns his head slightly. “He’s testing for reaction points. Seeing who breaks formation first.”
No one does.
We continue.
The ravine curves in a slow, snaking arc. The sky darkens. The temperature drops hard enough that pain needles through my jaw when I breathe.
Wind finds us.
Fast. Violent.
Not a breeze—a shift.
The storm arrives like a door being slammed open.
Snow doesn’t fall in flakes now—it drives sideways, sharp and blinding. Visibility collapses to thirty feet, then twenty.
Dal curses under his breath, quiet but honest. “He’s counting on this.”
Of course he is.
A storm means noise.
A storm means confusion.
A storm means scent trails and footprints get wiped.
A storm means panic.
We do not panic.
But Brooklyn is shivering now. Hard. Her face is pale, lips nearly bloodless. The cold is hitting her faster than the rest of us.
Caleb makes the call first.
“We need shelter. Now.”
Linc scans through the storm, eyes narrowed, lashes iced white. “Ridge break about a quarter mile north. Might be an overhang.”
Bos answers from the rear. “Or a choke point waiting to happen.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Caleb says. “We won’t survive exposure out here.”
He’s right.
I shift closer to Brooklyn, my body shielding the wind. “We move together. Tight formation. Nobody breaks stride.”
We turn toward the north ridge.
The storm eats distance.
The world shrinks to white and motion and breath.
The wind roars like something alive.
And through it—A whisper.
Not close.
Not loud.
Not meant to be heard with ears.
"You will come back."
Brooklyn stops breathing for half a beat.
I don’t look at her—I step forward, guiding her weight and momentum so her feet keep moving.
She walks.
She walks.
She keeps walking.
Good girl.
We reach the ridge break—barely visible through the storm. A natural rock shelf juts out above a hollowed slope. Enough cover to block the wind, maybe hold heat if we stay close.
Bos clears the space first, scanning corners and shadow angles. Dal checks elevation sightlines. Linc tests the snowpack stability above the shelf.
Caleb steps inside and nods. “Here. We hold.”
I guide Brooklyn beneath the rock shelf. She sinks down onto her knees, but she’s not collapsing—she’s conserving energy. Smart.
I kneel in front of her, close enough to share heat without crowding her.
Her eyes find mine through the storm-dark and the dim.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she whispers.
I answer the truth.
“I didn’t think I’d stop looking.”
Her throat works like swallowing hurts.
Outside the shelter, the storm screams.
And beneath the storm—Footsteps.
Not close.
Not approaching.
Just there.
Caleb hears them first. His head lifts.
Linc shifts his grip.
Dal steadies his stance.
Bos positions to block the entrance.
No one speaks.
Because we all understand—he's not attacking.
He’s reminding us.
He can.
At any time.
At any moment.
But he doesn’t want to take her by force.
He wants her to choose.
Brooklyn closes her eyes.
I place my hand on the ground beside hers—not touching, just next to it.
A promise within reach.
The storm rages around us.
The hunter waits.
And we wait back.
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