Page 45 of Collateral Damage
I shake my head. “Nothing significant.”
She eyes me, opens her mouth to speak, but instead of asking me anything further, she gestures to the mug.
“Coffee only works for so long. After that, it just masks fatigue and drives up cortisol.”
I smile. “You forgot to mention irritability and tremor.”
The corner of her mouth curves. “Then you already know caffeine isn’t a replacement for rest.”
I do know. I also know that we don’t have any other option.
“I’ve been trained to survive on three hours of sleep.”
Her eyebrow arches. “Maybe so, but that won’t mean much if you overstimulate your system and burn through your stress response.”
“You didn’t pull all-nighters as a resident?”
“That’s different. Patients can crash at any time. They don’t keep an orderly schedule.”
“And this situation isn’t on a schedule either,” I say.
"Right." She sets her mug down with a soft clink. "So you'll just run yourself into the ground and hope adrenaline carries you through."
There's an edge to her voice now—frustration breaking through the calm.
"I've done this before, Ava. I know my limits."
"Do you?" She stands, crossing her arms. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're trying to be some kind of one-man fortress, and that's not sustainable. Not for days."
I don't know whether to be irritated or impressed. "What would you suggest?"
"Let yourself rest in shifts. Even two hours would help. I can stay awake. I can watch for—" She gestures vaguely toward the windows. "Whatever you tell me to."
"That's not how this works."
"Then tell me how it works. Tell me what to look for, Silas, because right now I feel completely useless."
The words come out sharper than she probably intended, and the silence that follows is heavy with the realization she has a point.
I let out a long breath.
“In this storm, we're flying blind. No one can see more than ten feet in that." I gesture toward the wall of white beyond the window.
She follows me as I move through the cabin, explaining as I go.
"The snow is actually working for us. It's too heavy, too deep for anyone to approach without making noise. Snowmobiles we'd hear a mile away. Vehicles can't make it up the access road—not in this."
I crouch by the back door, running my hand along the base of the frame. "Feel this?"
She kneels beside me, her shoulder brushing mine as she reaches out. "The thread?"
"If this door moves even an inch, that falls. Same with the front. Simple, but it works."
Standing, I lead her to the main room. "You're not watching—you're listening. Sit here, by the fire. Keep it fed but low. Every twenty minutes or so, stay still and just listen. Wind, creaking, snow sliding off the roof—you'll start to learn what's normal."
"And if something isn't?"
I meet her eyes. "You wake me. No hesitation. I don't care if you think you might be wrong."
