The safe house was a three-hour walk from the camp.
Brock set a pace that was fast enough to matter and slow enough to acknowledge that I was not in a condition to run. He did not comment on the pregnancy. I was unsure if he had noticed or was being careful not to mention it, and I didn't ask. We moved through the forest in the kind of silence that is not uncomfortable, just functional, two people focused on the same immediate problem.
The storm stayed with us the whole way.
By the time we reached the edge of the mountain tree line and the ground began to level out my boots had soaked through completely and my ribs were reminding me with every uphill step that they had not fully decided to heal yet. I kept moving. The baby moved too, a small flutter low in my stomach that had started ha
