Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
HANNAH
Darkness has fallen completely.
I’m finally warm again, though I’m not entirely sure how that’s possible.
I should have frostbite on at least some extremities after that exposure, but when I finally extract my feet from the blankets to put on the thick socks that the kindly cabin owner offers, I can wiggle all my toes.
Same with my fingers and nose. My host also provides an oversized flannel shirt, sweater, and corduroy pants that I can only keep up with a belt we have to punch extra holes in for my smaller waist.
Sure, he fed me soup and more hot chocolate-coffee until I felt it all sloshing warmly in my stomach, but still...
I don’t know much about Celsius conversion, but I do know zero degrees means freezing. The thermometer outside his kitchenette window reads negative forty degrees.
Maybe I avoided frostbite because I kept moving constantly?
Or... far more likely, it’s because of something Beast did when he healed me.
Apparently, he granted more than one miracle.
Am I enhanced somehow now? Or just able to withstand extreme cold? Did he do it so I could move comfortably around his unheated castle, or was it an unintended consequence?
I went to that dungeon seeking answers and only managed to unleash chaos while generating a thousand new questions.
Has Beast returned home to find the others loose?
I shiver despite being warm in my borrowed clothes. The old man misinterprets and drapes another blanket around my shoulders, but I shake my head and stand.
I feel remarkably strong considering how weak I was hours ago, collapsing in the snow like that. I should be far more sore, too, given how far I ran without stretching.
A month ago, just standing on these legs for a few hours—not even walking—would have left my muscles in spasms all night.
Fresh tears gather unexpectedly. Tears of pure gratitude. To Beast.
These past few years, I swore I’d pay any price, do anything, if only...
You said that before you knew what the price actually was.
So what if I made a pact with the devil? I went in with my eyes open. Mostly open, anyway.
And then I fled like a coward the first chance I got.
“Thank you,” I tell the old man, removing the blanket and handing it back. “I don’t even know your name.” I press my hand to my chest. “I’m Hannah.”
He smiles. “Hannah.”
“What’s your name?” At his confused expression, I try more slowly, “Name?” while gesturing at him. I pat my chest, saying, “Hannah,” then point at him.
He brightens with understanding. “Mikhail.”
“Well, thank you, Mikhail.” Recalling something from movies, I attempt, “Spasibo.”
His eyes widen. With recognition? Concern? Maybe I’m not in Russia after all?
But he just pats my back and releases another stream of incomprehensible words.
I head toward the front door, which prompts alarmed chatter from him. I understand the gist, if not the actual words. I’m sure he thinks venturing into the cold darkness with nothing around for miles is foolish. Again, he mentions “politsiya.”
I shake my head because I know something he doesn’t.
If Beast isn’t already searching for me, he will be soon. He won’t release his consort easily.
You run, I will chase.
Yes, he’ll come looking, but I don’t want him finding kind Mikhail. While Beast hasn’t been violent toward me, I remember the stories about missing hikers.
“No, Mikhail.” I hold up my hand. “I’ll be fine.”
He tries stepping in front of me, but I gently push him aside. If he attempts to restrain me, I’ll become more than upset. I won’t hurt him, but I won’t be kept either.
Fortunately, he moves away, looking bewildered.
Before I reach the door, he presses something heavy into my hands. A flashlight.
Next, he spins away and returns with a knit hat and scarf. His thoughtfulness nearly brings me to tears.
“Thank you,” I say in English, not wanting to risk Russian again. I hope he feels the sincere gratitude in my tone, even if he can’t understand the words. “Thank you for everything. You’ve been a lifesaver today, and I’m so grateful for your kindness.”
I lean forward and hug his small, wiry frame. Then I turn, pull open the door, and step into the brutally cold night, my flashlight beam the only illumination in the darkness.
I’m relieved to leave Mikhail’s cabin behind. I genuinely don’t want Beast finding him.
But it’s immediately lonely once the warm light disappears behind me.
The howling wind provides the only sound in this silent winter night.
It’s so profoundly quiet out here in the most intense winter I’ve ever experienced. And that’s saying something for someone who grew up in Minnesota. This snow is on another level entirely.
If it hadn’t partially melted and refrozen into a harder surface, I couldn’t have run on it earlier. Tonight’s fresh snowfall is so deep that each step sinks me to my calves. Mikhail provided oversized boots that we secured with extra laces wrapped around my ankles. They’re heavy but manageable.
They should be impossible to keep lifting after today’s ordeal, but I continue discovering this miraculous well of endurance.
Because of him.
Every new demonstration of my body’s capabilities fills me with wonder, confusion, and gratitude. Now I understand why people run marathons and scale mountains.
Because they can. Because they want to push these incredible machines they’ve been given to their absolute limits, then a little further. Because it’s glorious to draw air—even knife-cold air—into your lungs, then release it, then breathe again.
Even walking toward a castle full of monsters, there’s peace in my heart.
It’s not just this new physical strength, though, that’s the catalyst. It’s the shift in perspective that it's given me.
I let people walk all over me my entire life.
My mother. Drew. I let him treat me terribly.
I made myself small for him. Not physically small—small as in.
.. I let him be the important one because that’s what he needed.
It was the only way he could function. I let him condescend to me and pretend he was the only capable one, when all along I was perfectly competent.
I diminished myself. For a man.
But I’d been raised that way. Making myself small for my mother, who fretted endlessly about my condition and how it affected her life, without ever seeming to connect with me personally.
Going off in search of a miracle—even when part of me never truly believed I’d find one—was about reclaiming control of my life. I was finally saying no.
No, I wouldn’t let them control me anymore.
No, I wouldn’t let my mother suffocate me.
No, I wouldn’t marry Drew and diminish myself for life so he could feel important. Sometimes I wonder if he cared more about how being with me looked to colleagues than he ever cared about me as a person.
Maybe that’s unfair. It’s just a suspicion. But there were countless ways he made me feel small. In his glances. How he’d park me in corners at parties except when he needed to display me.
In the selfish way he touched me, caring only about his own satisfaction.
Even if Beast takes back everything he gave me for breaking my promise and fleeing—even if my time on earth remains limited—I’ll never forget the freedom I’ve felt this past week.
And I’ll never accept less again.
I’ll make myself small for no one. Ever.
That’s my final thought before the rush of powerful wings and a lion’s roar overhead announces that I’ve been found.
Startled, I aim my flashlight at the dark sky.
Just in time to see Beast’s magnificent, furious face as he descends. Glorious black wings spread wide. His chest blazes with inner light.
His sharp teeth are bared in a snarl.
But instead of cowering, I feel something unexpected surge through me.
Relief.
Because seeing him—even angry and dangerous—feels like coming home.
And for the first time since this all began, I’m not running.
I’m ready to face whatever comes next.