Kaiden stands at the edge of the trailhead, cheeks chapped red, jacket unzipped just enough to show the faded blue shirt beneath. He’s bouncing from foot to foot, restless and jittery, sunlight catching the uneven edges of his hair. Lirae, strapping her gloves tight, doesn’t look at him—her jaw flexes, determination flickering behind her stormy eyes. She’s in black thermal leggings, a fitted red fleece, and the kind of boots that promise she’d scale a mountain in a heartbeat if it meant winning against him. “Don’t fall behind, Activities Director,” she mutters, lips twisting in a smirk that dares him to chase.

He wants to say something clever, but the memory of her naked confession—her mouth on his, her hands desperate—burns just under his skin. Instead, he adjusts the pack on his shoulders, breathes shallow as if that might calm the electricity arcing between them. “Last one to the ridge owes the winner anything they want,” he says, voice too bright, hoping the teasing will hide how much he aches for her.

She shoots him a glance, all dark challenge and the simmer of hurt she won’t admit. “You always fold when things get hard,” she says. He snorts, pretends it doesn’t sting. The others—two guests and Maelis—move ahead, but in this moment, the world narrows to just the two of them. Each footstep crunches, each glance a silent dare. When Lirae takes point, a loose strand of hair falls across her cheek, and Kaiden watches her try not to brush it away, as if showing need would be weakness.

Further back, Maelis falls into step with Zira, whose hood is pulled low, face shadowed except for the glint of her wary eyes. Zira’s fingers curl and uncurl at her sides. Every time Kaiden and Lirae laugh too loudly or brush shoulders, Zira’s jaw tenses, a faint line of worry twitching at the corner of her mouth. Maelis, more collected than usual, studies Zira intently—her gaze steady, voice low and even as she asks, “Did you sleep at all last night?” Zira shrugs, brittle. “Don’t need it.” Maelis’s hand hovers near Zira’s elbow but never quite touches, and for a fleeting moment, Zira looks as if she might lean in—then pulls away, tightening her pack straps with sudden violence.

The sky darkens abruptly. Snow starts to fall, not gentle—the kind that blurs direction and swallows sound. The group’s laughter dies, replaced by uncertain urgency. Kaiden’s mask slips, and Lirae sees his fear; something in her softens, and she nudges his arm, voice almost gentle. “Hey… don’t panic. I’ve got you.” The words hang there, heavier than the storm.

They lose the trail. Maelis urges the guests to keep moving, her voice unyielding, almost harsh. Zira scans the white void with expert precision, guiding them toward a small emergency hut half-buried near the tree line. Inside, bodies press together for warmth. Lirae’s breath catches when Kaiden shivers—he hates being still, hates feeling helpless. She peels off her outer layer, drapes it around his shoulders with a gruff, “Don’t make it weird.” He laughs, but his eyes are wet.

Later, in the hush after everyone else drifts into exhausted silence, Kaiden and Lirae share a cramped sleeping bag. Limbs entwined, faces inches apart, their breath mingles—raw, tentative. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. She exhales, blinking back the tears she swore she’d never show. Their foreheads touch, the awkwardness dissolving as she presses closer, her thigh sliding between his, her fingers tracing the scar at his temple. The kiss starts painfully slow—lips brushing, pulling back, then meeting again, deeper, more honest. She sighs into his mouth, her hand clutching his shirt. Kaiden murmurs her name and for a moment the world is only skin and heat and the tremble of wanting what hurt them both.

When it’s over, Lirae rests her head against his chest, her voice a ragged whisper. “What are we doing?” Kaiden exhales. “I don’t know. But I don’t want to stop.” For once, she doesn’t run.

Elsewhere in the hut, Maelis sits beside Zira, who’s tracing invisible patterns in the condensation on the window. The silence between them is heavy. Maelis—lips parted, voice trembling—says, “You’re not alone, you know.” Zira’s shoulders sag. She leans in, forehead nearly touching Maelis’s, eyes wide and scared. “I’ve done things I can’t take back,” she confesses, voice barely a breath. Maelis takes her hand—startled by her own boldness—and holds on. Zira’s fingers are icy, but they tighten fiercely, as if holding on means she won’t drown.

When the storm breaks, they all emerge with secrets burning behind their eyes. Maelis lingers by Kaiden’s door that night, clutching her own shame and desire. She raises her fist, hesitates. Inside, Kaiden and Lirae are tangled in sleep and safety for the first time in months. Maelis lowers her hand, uncertain if what she knows will heal them—or destroy everything.

To be continued...