Chapter 20
Saoirse
The temperature had dropped. Not cold, exactly, but cool enough to slip between layers. The kind of damp chill that settled in slow and stayed. Outside, the forest held its hush, branches barely stirring, the sky a soft, colorless stretch above the canopy.
Inside the blind, we hadn’t spoken in a while.
And though we sat close, something between us had cooled.
Or maybe it had sharpened.
Neither of us mentioned the kiss. But it was there, suspended in the space between us like dew on a spiderweb—delicate, shimmering, impossible to ignore.
We moved through the morning in a rhythm that felt… different. Careful. The kind of awareness that came from knowing exactly what the other’s mouth felt like, and having no idea what came next.
Not a thing I’d thought I’d have to consider when I’d set out on this expedition.
I crouched over the unfolded topo map, brushing pine needles off the corner. Finn knelt beside me, his shoulder bumping mine as he leaned in for a closer look. His hand stretched across the page at the same time as mine, our fingers grazing.
Static.
I felt it—sharp and electric—like my skin had a memory all its own.
I didn’t pull away. Neither did he. When I glanced up, I caught him watching me. There wasn’t a trace of that lazy smirk he usually wore like armor. No amusement or challenge, either. That steady, quiet gaze felt as if he was taking inventory of something new and didn’t want to miss a detail.
I swallowed against a mouth gone suddenly dry and looked away, pretending to study a contour line I already knew by heart.
I wasn’t someone who got flustered easily. I’d spent years cultivating the ability to hold eye contact through committee meetings, cocktail parties, and emergency surgeries. But this wasn’t something I could compartmentalize.
Because the way he looked at me didn’t feel like a beginning or an ending. It felt like a shift. And I didn’t know where it would land.
We sat side by side at the entrance to the shelter, the last of the breakfast rations between us. A protein bar shared in silence. Dried fruit that tasted like paper. The comfort of food, even in small, bland doses, helped take the edge off.
Finn broke the silence first. “We missed our morning check-in.”
I blinked. “What?”
“0800 came and went. With the sat unit destroyed, we’re on our own.”
I’d known that yesterday. But that had been before the mad dash to escape. The fight. The field treatment of Ajax’s wounds. In all the ensuing chaos, it had simply bled out of my mind.
“What about the sat phone?”
He hesitated. “Gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean, gone?”
“I think it must’ve come out when I went after the man who attacked Ajax.” He said it evenly, but I could hear the self-recrimination underneath.
The implications hit me like cold water down the spine. We were off schedule. And not by a few minutes.
My chest tightened. “Someone’s probably worrying about us by now.”
It was the first time I’d let my thoughts drift back to Glenlaig.
To the others. To my grandfather, likely pretending not to worry while obsessively cleaning surgical tools.
To Parker and Pippa and the others, who would absolutely raise hell if they thought we were in trouble.
I’d been so focused on the search, on Isla, on running, that I’d forgotten we weren’t the only ones waiting.
Finn nodded. His jaw flexed, the muscle tight along the edge. “Protocols kick in when we miss two. They’ll assume we’re out of signal range at first.”
“But we are out of signal range.” The quiet words settled between us. “And we’re alone.”
It wasn’t simply a statement. It was a reckoning.
Instead of offering false reassurance, he handed me the truth like it was a loaded weapon. “They’ll start looking if we miss the next one. But that takes time. They won’t scramble until they’re sure.”
Time we might not have.
My gaze drifted toward Ajax, still curled up with his head on his paws, ears twitching in his sleep.
His breathing was slow and even, but the bandage on his flank made my stomach knot.
We weren’t only fighting against the clock to find Isla anymore—we were racing against the limits of our own isolation.
I looked at Finn. “So what now?”
His eyes flicked toward the trees, the unspoken answer already forming.
The cavalry wasn’t coming. Not yet.
Whatever came next? It was still on us.
Finn spread the map across his thigh, but I wasn’t really looking at it. My eyes were on Ajax, lying in the dappled shade near the blind’s wall.
He woke as I crouched beside him and ran my hand gently along his side, checking the dressing. No seepage. No heat. The wound was clean. The swelling had gone down slightly overnight, and while he wasn’t exactly eager to jump to his feet, he raised his head when I stood.
“He’s good to move.” After yesterday, I knew Finn would need that reassurance. “Stiff, but alert.”
Finn didn’t look up right away. His jaw was clenched, that tic pulsing beneath the skin. “Good to move” wasn’t good enough for him. Not when it was Ajax. Not after what had nearly happened.
“He won’t reinjure it,” I added, softer now. “I won’t let him push too far.”
“I trust you.” He said it without hesitation, but the words were taut. Like a rope stretched too tight. He was bracing himself.
But we both knew this wasn’t about Ajax.
He dragged his finger across the map to trace our last known path. “Here’s the dilemma. We keep pushing forward—no comms, no backup—or we cut our losses and head back to get help.”
The weight of the choice pressed against my chest like a stone.
“If we go back, that gives them time. Time to move her. Time to erase whatever evidence we’ve already seen. Time to make her disappear.” Not that we’d seen evidence of that directly, but what was the alternative? Not one I cared to contemplate.
I didn’t raise my voice, but my point landed nonetheless. I saw the way his shoulders tightened. Heard the low curse he bit back.
He hated this. Hated the lack of options. Hated the thought of moving blind. He was used to controlled operations. Orders. A safety net. A team on the line when things went sideways.
This? This was chaos.
He looked at me then, and I knew what he saw—mud on my boots, hair pulled back, fingers still stained with Ajax’s blood. Not just a vet. Not just a client. A partner.
One who wasn’t backing down.
I sat beside Finn, the weight of the decision still coiled tight in my chest. The silence between us wasn’t hostile. It was thoughtful. Careful. We weren’t arguing. We were both trying to figure out how not to fail someone we loved.
I ran my thumb over the edge of the map, the paper gone soft and creased from wear. The trails we’d marked, the notes we’d scribbled in the margins, all felt like echoes. Almosts. Nothing solid.
My eyes tracked the last location Isla had recorded. We weren’t far now. If she was still out there—if she was still alive—then every minute we hesitated felt like a betrayal.
I looked down at Ajax. He’d laid his head back down, but his gaze stayed on Finn.
“Give him a chance to try to find her trail. If nothing turns up—if we’re wandering blind—we go back. Together.”
Finn didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, the edges of his jaw flexing.
Then, slowly, he turned his head to me. Met my eyes. “One window. A short one. And then we get her help.”
It was the most anyone could ask for. And the exact thing I’d needed.
I reached down and gently scratched behind Ajax’s ear. “You hear that, handsome? This next bit’s yours.”
His tail thumped once against the floor of the blind.
Finn exhaled, low and rough, like he’d been holding his breath for hours. Maybe he had.
We had a plan.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was hope.
We moved quietly, the hush between us threaded with the soft rustle of morning wind through the trees. There was no room for teasing or lingering glances after everything that had happened yesterday. We still had work to do.
I crouched beside Ajax while Finn knelt across from me doing… something with webbing. Then I realized. No harness now. He was repurposing the webbing from the pack straps to hold a light pouch of supplies and give us something to grab if Ajax faltered. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do.
“We take it slow.” Finn’s voice still wasn’t quite steady. “He sets the pace.”
I stood, brushing damp leaf litter from my trousers. Our arms bumped as we both reached for our packs, and we both let the contact linger longer than it should have.
The memory of that kiss flickered between us like heat off sun-warmed stone.
We slung our packs over our shoulders, and Finn moved to check the trail ahead. Ajax rose stiffly to his feet with a grunt, but there was no hesitation in the way he turned to follow.
Was this crazy? We had no backup. No comms. Ajax was mobile but still injured.
Then I thought of Isla. The fact that she was out here all alone. In danger. And I kept moving forward.
For now, that would have to be enough.