Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Avoiding James was harder than packing.
He had patterns. I'd learned them without meaning to—the way he took the long route to the dining hall, the bench where he read in the mornings, the corner of the library where he studied in the afternoons. The hum made him easy to track, a compass needle always pointing toward magnetic north.
I used that knowledge against both of us.
I took different routes. Ate at odd hours. Stayed in my room when I knew he'd be in shared spaces. It felt like holding my breath—sustainable for a while, painful the longer it went on.
Twice, I almost broke.
The first time was Tuesday afternoon. I was cutting through the athletic complex to avoid the quad, and I felt him before I saw him—that flare of warmth beneath my skin, the hum rising like a tide.
He was on the climbing wall, thirty feet up, moving with the easy confidence of someone who'd grown up physical.
I stood in the shadow of the doorway and watched him for longer than I should have.
He didn't see me. I made sure of that.
The second time was Wednesday night. I'd gone to the library. James was in the stacks, looking for something, and I heard his voice before I turned the corner.
I set my book on a table and walked out the back entrance.
He never knew I was there.
I packed at 1 a.m.
The room was dark except for the glow of my phone screen, turned face-down on the desk to cast just enough light to see by. Ivy slept through it—she always slept through everything, a gift I'd envied since the first night we'd shared this room.
My hands moved without hesitation. I'd rehearsed this a hundred times in my head. Knew exactly what went where, how to distribute weight, what could be sacrificed if I needed to move fast.
Base layers first. Merino wool, the good kind Gregor had bought for my birthday two years ago. Then mid-layers—fleece, synthetic insulation, nothing cotton. Cotton kills. That was one of the first things he'd taught me.
Outer shell. Waterproof, windproof, the bright orange that search and rescue teams could spot from a helicopter. I didn't plan on needing rescue. But Gregor's voice was loud in my head: Plan for the worst. Hope means nothing on a mountain.
Sleeping system. The bag was rated to negative forty, compressed into a stuff sack. Larger than I liked, but worth the weight. Pad for insulation from the ground. Bivy for emergency shelter.
Food. Energy bars. Freeze-dried meals. Electrolyte packets. Enough for two weeks if I rationed carefully. Longer if I had to.
The gear I'd been collecting for weeks fit together like puzzle pieces. Thermal blanket from the First Aid closet. Waterproof matches from the outdoor equipment room. Paracord. Chemical heat packs. The small things that meant the difference between survival and statistics.
I worked in silence, each movement precise. My body knew what to do even when my mind was still catching up.
This was really happening.
I was really leaving.
The note for Ivy took longer than the packing.
I sat at my desk with a pen and a piece of paper torn from my notebook, staring at the blank page like it might fill itself if I waited long enough.
What do you say to someone who trusted you? Who let you into their space and their life and didn’t ask for anything except honesty?
I’m sorry felt inadequate. I have to go felt incomplete. There’s something I need to do was true but explained nothing.
In the end, I wrote two notes.
The first one was easy.
Ivy—
I was up all night with a stomach bug and didn’t want to wake you. I’m exhausted and my head’s a mess, so I’m going to Rae’s healing center to get meds and sleep it off.
Don’t worry. Rae knows I’m coming and she’ll take care of me.
If you’re out after classes tonight, bring me a croissant? The good one, not the sad cafeteria kind.
—L
It was believable. Ordinary. The kind of note roommates left each other all the time.It would buy me hours. Maybe a full day.
I folded it once and left it on the desk, right where she’d see it when she woke up.
The second note took longer.
This one wasn’t meant to be found right away.
I rewrote it twice before the words finally stayed put.
Ivy—
I have to leave for a while. I can’t explain why, and I can’t tell you when I’ll be back. I’m sorry for the way this looks. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you in person.
You’ve been a better friend than I deserved. Please don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing.
If anyone asks, you don’t know anything. That’s not a lie—I never told you. Keep it that way.
Thank you. For everything.
— Lumi
I read it three times. It was honest. It was vague. It was the best I could do.
I folded it smaller this time and slid it beneath my pillow, tucked far enough back that she would need to be searching.
By the time she did, I’d be gone.
The campus was quiet at 3 a.m.
A few lights glowed in faculty buildings—early risers, insomniacs, people with secrets to keep. The snow had frozen overnight into a hard crust that crunched under my boots. My breath fogged in the air, each exhale a small ghost that dissolved before I could catch it.
I walked slowly. Not because I was hesitating, but because I wanted to remember.
The athletic complex, where Coach Reeves had watched me climb and asked questions I couldn't answer.
The dining hall, where Twilson had stripped my anonymity away one careful word at a time.
The science building, with its hidden bench where I'd cried and raged and let James hold me when I couldn't hold myself.
I turned away and kept walking.
The boundary line was marked by a stone wall—old, weathered, half-buried in snow. It didn't look like much. Just a barrier between the manicured grounds of Frosthaven and the wild forest beyond.
But I felt it the moment I approached.
The air changed. Not temperature—something else.
A pressure shift, like stepping through an invisible membrane.
The hum that had been a constant companion since I'd arrived flickered and dimmed, no longer pulled toward James but reaching outward, northward, toward something I couldn't see but could feel in my bones.
The mountain.
The wolf.
The reason I was doing any of this.
I climbed over the wall and dropped into the snow on the other side. The landing jarred my knees, sent a shock up my spine. My pack shifted, settled, became part of me.
I stood there for a moment, looking back.
Frosthaven. The buildings I'd walked through for weeks, the paths I'd memorized, the people I'd let slip past my defenses.
Ivy with her terrible jokes and her quiet kindness.
Silas with his knowing eyes and his books full of warnings.
Rae with her hard-won wisdom and her daughter who called me Lulu.
James.
James, who'd waited on benches and brought me energy bars and left when I asked him to. James, who'd said when you're ready like he meant it. Like he'd wait forever if that's what it took.
I hadn't said goodbye to him. Hadn't left a note. Hadn't even let myself look at him one last time.
That was the kindest thing I could do. The cleanest cut.
If I'd seen him, I might have stayed. Might have let the pull of the bond override the pull of the mountain. Might have convinced myself that the visions could wait, that the wolf could survive another season, that I didn't have to be the one who answered.
But I did have to be the one.
The story Darian told wasn't just a story. It was a blueprint. A calling. A thread that ran through generations, connecting women who didn't fit anywhere to the lost and broken things that needed finding.
I didn't know if I was one of those women. Didn't know if the bloodline was real or the myth was just a myth.
But I knew what I'd seen. The wolf on the ridge, feral and afraid. The figure falling through white. The silence that waited at the top of the world.
Someone had to answer.
I turned north and started walking.
The forest swallowed me within minutes.
The trees were thick here, old growth that blocked the pale light and muffled sound. Snow lay heavy on branches, creating a canopy of white that filtered everything into silence. My boots broke through the crust with each step, leaving a trail that would disappear by afternoon.
Good. I didn't want to be followed.
The route was clear in my mind—mapped and remapped over weeks of research. North through the forest to the highway. Hitch a ride to Talkeetna. From there, the glacier landing that would take me to base camp.
After that, it was just me and the mountain.
Fourteen thousand feet of ice and stone and wind. A route that killed experienced climbers every year. A timeline that was already too tight, weather that was already too unpredictable.
And somewhere up there, a wolf that no one else was looking for.
The pull sharpened with each step north. Not the hum—that had faded to a whisper, a background noise I could almost ignore. This was something older. Deeper. A hook behind my sternum, drawing me forward like a fish on a line.
I adjusted my pack and kept walking.
The trees thinned. The wind picked up. The pull grew stronger.
Behind me, everything I'd built and everyone I'd let close. The warmth of Rae's kitchen. Ivy's laughter. The steady thrum of a bond I'd never asked for but couldn't seem to escape.
Ahead, the white.
I didn't look back.
I didn't need permission.