Chapter 7
Russ
The storm rolls in like an ambush.
One second the night is clear enough to see the ridge line.
The next, wind slams into us hard enough to shove people sideways.
Dust explodes through the air.
Children scream.
“Move!” Lucas shouts over the roar. “Find cover!”
Ice pellets sting against my face like shrapnel. The temperature nosedives so fast my lungs burn when I inhale.
Perfect.
Because apparently getting hunted through the mountains wasn’t enough punishment for one night.
The mothers hunch over the children, trying to shield them from the wind. Blankets whip violently through the air.
“We can’t stay exposed!” Hannah yells.
I scan the ridge once.
There.
A narrow split in the rock about fifty yards ahead.
Not good.
But survivable.
“Move!” I point toward it. “Go!”
Everyone stumbles forward together.
Boots slide over loose stone. Wind tears at clothing hard enough to throw balance off. One of the smaller kids starts crying when the cold hits his face.
Olivia scoops him up without breaking stride.
By the time we reach the rock shelter, everybody’s breathing hard.
The space barely counts as cover.
Jagged stone walls curve inward just enough to block the worst of the wind, but it’s cramped and uneven and cold as hell.
Still better than freezing to death outside.
Lucas ducks in behind us, snow and dust clinging to his jacket. “This works. We stay here until it passes.”
Nobody argues.
The kids are shaking too hard to complain.
Hell, most of the adults are too.
Olivia drops immediately into motion.
“Put the smaller ones in the middle,” she says, already rearranging blankets. “Body heat will help.”
One mother pulls two children against her chest while Hannah wraps another little girl in spare layers.
Olivia kneels beside them, rubbing warmth back into tiny frozen hands.
I shrug off my outer jacket and toss it toward her.
She catches it automatically, then looks up. “What are you doing?”
“Apparently following doctor’s orders.”
Her eyes narrow. “And what exactly are you wearing under this?”
“Enough.”
“Russ—”
“Use it.”
The wind screams outside the shelter loud enough to shake the rocks.
Olivia hesitates.
Then wraps the coat around the smallest child instead.
Good.
I stay near the opening of the shelter, watching the storm churn across the ridge.
White haze.
Howling wind.
Zero visibility.
My side throbs steadily beneath the bandage.
Doesn’t matter.
A second later, Olivia appears beside me.
“You’re standing out in the open.”
“I noticed.”
“You’re going to freeze.”
“I’ve been colder.”
She folds her arms tightly across herself, glaring up at me through windblown hair. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
That only seems to annoy her more.
Good.
Means she’s distracted from shaking.
Then suddenly her hand wraps around my arm.
“You’re coming inside.”
I look down at her hand.
Then at her.
“Bold move, Doctor.”
“Get in the shelter.”
“You ordering me around now?”
“Yes.”
Despite myself, something dangerously close to a smile tugs at my mouth.
Then another brutal gust tears through the rocks, carrying snow and ice with it.
Decision made.
I duck farther inside.
Space is tight enough that shoulders press together immediately.
Olivia shifts beside me to make room—
And accidentally leans straight into my injured side.
Pain flashes hot beneath my ribs.
Her eyes widen instantly. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
Lie.
But I don’t move away.
Neither does she.
Because there’s nowhere else to go.
That’s what we’re both pretending anyway.
The wind howls through the narrow opening while the shelter fills with uneven breathing and shivering kids.
“You cold?” I ask quietly.
Olivia lets out a short laugh that fogs in the air. “What gave it away?”
I glance down.
Her hands are curled tightly into the sleeves of her sweater, shoulders trembling despite how hard she’s trying to hide it.
Without really thinking about it, I shift closer.
Just enough.
Her shoulder settles more firmly against my chest.
Warmth immediately spreads through the space between us.
Her breath catches softly.
“Better?” I ask.
A pause.
Then quieter, “…yeah.”
That should’ve been the end of it.
Instead she says, “You do this often?”
“Nearly freeze to death in storms?”
“That too.”
I huff out a breath. “Occupational hazard.”
The corner of her mouth twitches faintly.
First almost-smile I’ve seen from her tonight.
Then she asks softly, “Why do you keep doing it?”
Not a question people usually ask me.
Most people don’t care enough to.
I stare out at the storm instead of answering right away.
Because the truth is messy.
Because I don’t actually know how to be anything else.
“I’m good at it,” I finally say.
Not the whole answer.
She notices.
I can tell by the silence that follows.
“You could leave,” she murmurs.
“So could you.”
That lands between us.
Olivia shifts slightly, her temple brushing near my shoulder when the wind rattles the rocks again.
“People need me,” she says quietly.
The words come instantly.
Like breathing.
Like fact.
I look down at her.
At the exhaustion she keeps trying to bury beneath control.
“At some point,” I say, “people need to stop taking pieces out of you too.”
She goes still.
“I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that.”
Another silence stretches between us.
Not awkward.
Worse.
The kind loaded with things neither person wants to touch.
Finally I say, “I saw your face earlier.”
She doesn’t ask what I mean.
“With the little boy.”
Her breathing changes slightly.
“You thought you lost him.”
“That happens.”
“Doesn’t mean it stops hurting.”
She stares at the storm outside the shelter. “It has to.”
“Why?”
“Because if it doesn’t…” Her voice lowers. “I won’t be able to keep doing this.”
There it is.
Real.
Raw enough I almost feel guilty hearing it.
I turn my head slightly.
She’s closer than I realized.
Close enough to see exhaustion in her eyes.
Close enough to notice the way her lips part when she breathes.
Close enough to become a problem.
“You never stop, do you?” I murmur.
Her gaze lifts slowly to mine.
“No.”
Not stubborn.
Not dramatic.
Just true.
Something tightens hard in my chest.
Before I can think better of it, my hand slides over hers where it rests against her leg.
Slow.
Careful.
Giving her every chance to move away.
She doesn’t.
The storm disappears.
The mission disappears.
Everything narrows down to the warmth of her hand beneath mine and the way she’s looking at me now.
Open.
Tired.
Dangerously soft.
I lean toward her slowly.
Enough time to stop me.
Enough time to change her mind.
She doesn’t.
Her breath brushes my mouth.
“Olivia!”
Hannah’s voice cuts through the shelter sharp enough to break glass.
Olivia jerks back immediately.
“The boy,” Hannah says urgently. “Something’s wrong—he’s struggling to breathe—”
Olivia’s already moving before the sentence finishes.
Of course she is.
She disappears across the cramped shelter and drops beside the child without hesitation.
Just like that, the moment’s gone.
I sit there staring at the empty space beside me while my pulse refuses to settle down.
Damn it.
That should not have happened.
Could not happen.
Not here.
Not now.
I drag a hand down my face and force myself upright.
Outside, the storm still rages.
Inside, Olivia bends over the child with complete focus, steady hands already working.
And somehow that’s worse.
Because now I know exactly how dangerous this is.
It’s not just the mission anymore.
Not just protecting civilians.
Not just surviving long enough to get everyone out alive.
Now there’s her.
And the way she keeps putting herself between danger and everyone else.
And the way she looked at me before Hannah interrupted us.
Like she wanted that kiss as much as I did.
That changes everything.