I have to find her.

I have to.

Every muscle in my body is wound tight. My boots slip in the mud, but I catch myself on a branch, breath heaving. My hands are already numb, but I push forward, head low, tracking the scent. Closer. Stronger.

My phone buzzes and dings.

I yank it out, shielding the screen with my hand.

Lila: help. storm. think im hurt. near boat house.

My blood freezes. I tell her I’m coming, then look up, eyes wild, and charge forward. Branches whip my face, but I barely feel them. The trees blur. The mud pulls at my legs.

Then—

A flash of red.

Rhys’s raincoat.

A small form, curled near a fallen branch.

I fall to my knees beside her.

“Lila,” I breathe, gathering her gently.

Her skin is ice. Her lashes crusted with rain. Her lips tremble, but she doesn’t speak. Her scent is faint, too faint.

No.

No, no, no—

I press her close to my chest, trying to share my warmth, trying to anchor her to me with touch, with scent, with everything I am. Misty dances at my feet, meowing.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

The storm howls around us, but all I can hear is her shallow breathing.

I hold her tighter, shifting her weight in my arms.

Then I hear it—boots pounding over wet earth. Rhys and Corwyn.

Rhys is there first, his eyes scanning me, landing on her, going dark with concern.

“She hurt?”

“Yes,” I grit. “She’s cold. I think that branch fell on her. She passed out.”

Corwyn’s already pulling off his own coat. “We have to get her back. Now.”

Rhys nods. “Give her to me, I’ll carry her—”

“No.” I tighten my hold. “I’ve got her.”

They don’t argue.

We form a triangle, shielding her from the wind as best we can, and start the hike back. Rhys leads, clearing the path with brute force where needed, and Corwyn falls behind to watch our backs, scooping up the wet Misty.

Lila stirs once, head pressing faintly to my chest, but doesn’t wake.