Page 152 of These Tears

God, yesterday he had me pinned inside a choice that wasn’t one. Today, he plays the patient teacher again, waiting until my grip loosens. That does terrible things to the part of my mind that wants clean categories, clear boundaries. Monster. Man. Threat. Shelter.

My body, though?

No respect for any of those categories.

‘Punch the throttle and the track can break loose or dig us in. Smooth is what you want.’

Punch. Break. Smooth.

‘Right…’ I stammer, looking from one handle to the other. ‘No pressure. Why are we doing this, again?’

He leans forward, pressing slightly into me. ‘Survival. Your feet stay planted on the running boards,’ he says, touching my knee and pointing at the metal beneath our boots. ‘Knees soft. Weight low. Turn with the bars and move your weight with them. Don’t fight it with your arms.’

He waits a beat, like he wants me to say yes, sir.

‘Aren’t you afraid I’ll run away?’

He hums, but it comes out as a growl. ‘Run?’ The murmur is low, but I hear it. ‘Don’t tease me.’

‘What?’ I twist towards him, but he manoeuvres me back into position before I can make sense of it.

‘When I tell you—’ he continues as if he hadn’t dropped a threat. Or a taunt. ‘Ease the throttle in. Don’t fight the machine. Let it take the tension before you ask it for more.’ His words fall against my ear. ‘Like loosening your grip on a book without meaning to let go.’

I scoff. ‘Of course you would make that comparison.’

His mouth quirks against the fabric on my neck in the faintest suggestion of a smile.

‘Well then. Let’s avoid the trees. That way.’ He points ahead and pulls his goggles down.

I mirror him.

‘Oh my God…’ I murmur.

‘It’s going to be fine.’

‘We’re going to die.’

‘At least it’s sunny.’

I glance ahead, the low winter sky already painted in oranges, pinks and blues. And then I remember I’d forgotten to take my fucking phone.

I’m the stupidest captive alive.

Alive…

Well… not for long.

The snowmobile shoots forward. My throat produces a sound I refuse to acknowledge as mine as we surge over the packed snow.

I force one breath through my nose. Then another. Thumb steady. Arms loose. Eyes ahead. His instructions arrange themselves into something usable.

It’s like riding a bike.

If the bike wanted to kill me.

The track bites and the world snaps into motion. Snow blurs beneath us, the engine’s vibration climbs straight up my spine. The cold air knifes through the gaps around my protective layers just as we skim past the smokehouse. It’s behind us in a heartbeat – gone – swallowed by distance as the terrain opens before us. The plain stretches out, unbroken and luminous, and Elias shifts with me. Then his hand closes over mine and nudges my thumb deeper into the throttle.

We surge faster. My insides pitch. Adrenaline detonates in my chest, clashing with the memory of yesterday’s chase.