28
Our first stop is a lonely roadside building with a sign that reads Bensinstasjon. It might as well be written in Martian. A row of fuel pumps comes into view beneath a low canopy, their hoses sitting stiff in the cold. And I realise what it is.
Bensinstasjon. Petrol station.
I whisper the word to myself, hoping the translation will stick.
It’s tucked between pine trees and frostbitten ditches at the entrance of the town.
And whatever lingers around it turns me into Jakob Halvorsen’s fiancée again.
As soon as we step inside, the woman behind the till lets out a gasp of utter delight.
She is small but solid, wrapped in a heavy woollen skirt that falls to her boots in deep, practical folds.
Her grey hair is braided thickly down one shoulder, like silver threaded through frost, while fine lines crease her face as a testament to time.
Light blue eyes miss nothing, even as her mouth spreads into a smile warm enough to make the little shop seem like the only fragment of the world that hasn’t turned hostile.
‘Jakob!’ she cries in a lilting northern accent. Her arms fling wide as if he were her own blood returned from war.
He bends into her embrace with surprising gentleness. The contrast is so jarring, my entire body slows for two beats.
Beside her, Elias seems even larger. His broad back swallows the aisle behind him; white snowsuit, black beard, that permanent downward curve at his mouth. But in her arms, his shoulders ease and his head bows. Then his eyes close. And he is suddenly human.
He murmurs something low and fluid in Norwegian. She looks towards me with a smile that feels warmer than the radiator near the back wall.
‘God ettermiddag! I’m Sunna,’ she greets brightly. Her voice sounds like it should come with warm coffee and gingerbread cookies.
‘Leandra Nottingham. Pleased to meet you,’ I reply, offering my hand.
‘Oh, don’t be so formal with me, girl.’
She takes it, only to pull me forward into a hug that smells like laundry detergent and lingonberry preserve.
The sweetness hits the back of my throat before the memory does – jam on his fingers. On my tongue. Mixed with something warmer, saltier… far more damning. My stomach clenches so hard I nearly wrench away from her.
My eyes slide towards Elias. And I freeze.
The usual tension has vanished from his face. No scowl, no glare. Just a crease at the corner of his mouth that threatens to become a smile.
‘Sunna is Anders’ wife,’ he says warmly as he lowers his gaze towards the small woman.
I blink. ‘Oh! Right!’
‘Inga was out the back!’ Sunna calls, turning towards him. ‘But I think she might have left already.’
The name lances cold through me.
Inga.
Yay.
‘We weren’t expecting you so soon!’ she chirps, her boots tapping lightly over the floorboards as she rounds the counter and slips back behind the till.
‘We came early to run some errands,’ Elias replies, polite but suddenly distant again.
‘Ah, good. I was about to panic.’ An honest, muffled laugh bubbles out from her. ‘No one wants to be short-handed today.’
‘No need to make a fuss around us,’ I say. ‘We’ve come to help.’
Sunna waves a hand. ‘No, no. Let Jakob show you the town a little. We’re preparing for the herding, so it’s going to be busy – especially with the unexpected weather that set us back.’
She peeks out the front window, squinting towards the dimming sky. ‘There’s a small gathering later – some joiking, and the children are doing a little duodji with the older ones. We try to make sure they keep learning it.’
My head lifts slightly at the terms. I’ve read about duodji – the traditional Sámi handcraft, but the other term—
‘Joik?’
‘Joiking,’ she corrects with a mild smile. ‘Singing is the closest term to it, but it isn’t quite the same. You don’t always joik about someone. Sometimes you joik them – a person, a place, even a memory.’ Her eyes soften. ‘You’ll hear.’
Pale eyes, rimmed with grey lashes, linger on me long enough to make me wonder how much she notices – and how much she chooses not to say.
The hairs along my arms lift.
I glance towards the place where Elias had been standing. He’s gone.
He… left me alone?
I hadn’t even noticed him slip away.
Did he go to see Inga?
My fingers twitch. I reach for the strap of the camera that isn’t there. When my fingers find no purchase, they shift to the zip and pull my jacket halfway open. My skin is flushed already, as if my mind only just realised I’m overheating.
And there’s another thing.
I push my hands into the pockets and curl my fingers around my phone.
‘Is there… any chance I could get a signal somewhere?’ I ask, keeping my tone casual but low enough that he won’t overhear. ‘Even one bar?’
Sunna laughs softly as she heads back to the till. ‘Oh, no, dear. Not in this hollow. The mountains kill it. You can use the landline after Elias is done with it.’
My eyes shoot towards where he’d been standing.
Now I’m burning to know who he’s calling.
‘He’s just out the back. End of the corridor, to the left.’
I nod, but my eyes drift over my shoulder – where the exit smiles at me. So close. A handful of steps, really.
But the thought barely forms before the flashback of the snow swallowing my scream hits me. The freezing air clawing at my lungs, the creak of his boots against the white cover closing in.
The frenzied kiss.
I rub my hands together as if that might settle my nerves.
‘Go on, dear,’ Sunna says warmly, mistaking the delay for confusion.
Her hand gestures me forward just as the bell above the door jingles.
A man enters with a cheerful greeting, and she switches instantly to Norwegian, her voice still as bright as the midday sun in a place that barely gets any in winter.
I move towards the back door before I lose the nerve.
Each step feels heavier than the last, but I keep the rhythm soft, my boots grazing the wood. The narrow corridor stretches ahead. It’s too dark and too cramped to belong to anything less than a haunted house.
A low, familiar growl makes me stop midway.
It’s Elias. There’s no mistaking that rasp in his voice.
And he is not calm.
A thud snaps out – wood protesting under the force of something hard. My skin prickles as I continue moving. He must’ve hit something.
I go slower, breath stuck between my ribs and my throat. Just a few more steps and I’d be able to hear properly—
A shift. A shuffling of fabric. He’s moving.
I dart to the left and duck into the nearest opening – a dim, doorless alcove. The air smells like boxes, cleaning supplies, and old insulation. It’s barely wide enough to stand in. My shoulder scrapes the wall as I press in, willing myself invisible.
Outside, his voice carries.
‘Try to get hold of Skeever again,’ Elias rumbles. ‘He was released last month and owes me a favour. I don’t have the number, just the address I gave you.’
There’s a pause. The other, tinny voice responds, too distant.
Elias answers again, louder, ‘The legal way doesn’t work!
’ His fist hits the wall. The boards jump.
There’s a long pause – long enough for me to imagine him flexing the hand he just drove into timber.
A harsh exhale follows. Then silence, as if he’s forcing whatever snapped inside him back behind his teeth.
Then quieter, strained: ‘I’m sorry. I’m trying to do better.’
Another pause. His voice dips lower. ‘While you’re taking the legal route, have Skeever do it his way. He’s good with computers. Whichever gets results faster—’
A sharp inhale, teeth audibly clenching.
‘All good. Yes. It’s… fine. I’ll call you next week. Same time.’
A plastic clack follows – slightly too violent.
Then silence.
Bootsteps. Heavy. Slow. Closer.
I press myself tighter against the wall, melting into the dark. My breath barely moves through my throat as I count each step. Once he’s gone, I’ll have very little time to make a call before he realises what I’m doing.
He takes four steps.
Five.
Then nothing. No creak. No shift. The door doesn’t open.
Did he stop?
My heart screams inside my chest. Maybe he left? His legs are long – it would only take him five steps at most to reach the—
Elias’ forearm bars across my collarbone, pinning me to the wall without quite crushing the air out of me. His other hand clamps over my mouth, smothering the gasp before it becomes sound.
His earthy fragrance settles into my lungs. My body locks as he bends over me, his breath warm against my face.
I don’t need the light to know what he must look like now. That look. The one that says he knows exactly what I heard.
His voice comes low and gravelled; the fury banked beneath it.
‘Eavesdropping,’ he grates, ‘is a pet peeve of mine.’
He pulls his hand slowly away from my face, as if letting go takes effort. ‘I was rather hoping you’d make a run for it when I left you.’
That unholy blend of arousal and fear slinks around the base of my spine.
‘Busy breaking the law again?’ I manage, the words tumbling out before I can catch them. Instant regret clots behind my sternum.
My eyes are adjusting to the dark. The shadows are thick, but I can make out the tense lines on his face, humming with a fury that doesn’t require volume. His glare is fixed on me.
‘I wouldn’t have to be breaking it if it weren’t for you!’ he snaps.
‘No one asked you to bring me here!’
‘The door’s right there.’ He jerks his chin towards the exit as his mouth comes within an inch of mine.
‘And miss all this fun in Winterland?’ I jab, my breath catching on it.
I’ve gone mad.
Before I can stop it, my gaze darts sideways towards the wall behind which the telephone sits.
There’s no way I can make a call now.
His eyes follow. Then return to me.
There it is – he understands why I was hiding here.
And when he releases me, it’s worse than if he had tightened his hand.
He herds me back into the corridor, one hand hovering at the small of my back without quite touching. Every time I slow, his boots close the distance behind mine.