Page 75 of These Tears

I flinch slightly but manage to hold back the sound that almost tears out.

The Norwegian chuckles, taking the movement for something considerably more affectionate. ‘Ah see? A man will do anything for a woman.’

I assemble a socially acceptable smile.

‘Anything,’ Elias agrees.

One word.

It settles colder than the weather outside.

Whatever game I was playing dies there. I stop shifting against him, suddenly too aware of the meaning.

The hard pressure beneath me gradually eases as the conversation drifts towards safer territory: winter arriving too early, snow already swallowing roads, the usual complaints of people who have made peace with living somewhere the sun routinely gives up.

Eventually, the gentleman rises, offers us one last genial smile and abandons his seat.

The quiet that comes down on us is anything but peaceful.

Elias settles back with me still trapped against him. And I need to close my eyes against the onslaught of his scent and heat that drag my mind completely away from the now empty seat beside us.

‘Can you cook?’ he asks with that Elias Crane kind of calm.

I twist to give him an incredulous look.

‘Where we’re going,’ he clarifies, as though we’re just exchanging thoughts over tea, ‘survival doesn’t care if you’re tired. You will do what needs doing. I don’t want to hear “I’m tired” or “I can’t.”’

That casual, almost reprimanding tone makes my fists clench.

Where we’re going…

The phrase rattles like a lock snapping shut.

I open my mouth, but then my gaze travels through the window glass. Beyond it, snow rims the runways. Nothing that should frighten me, but with the word survival still ringing in my skull, my mind supplies the rest.

Miles.

And miles.

Of snow.

And cold.

The scenery that eats footprints and silences screams.

And it clicks – he’s not taking me to some sleepy northern village.

It’s the fucking wilderness.

Oh. My. God.

My lungs fold in on themselves.

I’ve never even gone camping in my entire life. I can’t hunt. I can’t fish. Hell, I’ve never even picked a single berry! Mum fed us frozen chicken and chips, and Dad made us fetch beer from the fridge. I don’t know what’s required to survive in a place like that!

‘Can you?’ he reiterates, hooking me back into reality.

‘Are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?’ I whisper, steadying the tremor in my voice.