WINTER FROST

RAVEN POV The orangutan’s eyes met mine through the camera lens, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe. She was old at least forty, which is practically elderly for an orangutan and her gaze carried something I’d spent seven years chasing across six continents. Wisdom, maybe. Or peace. Something I hadn’t found in all my wandering. My finger hovered over the shutter. The light was perfect, filtering through the Bornean canopy in shafts of gold and green. This was the shot the one that would anchor my entire conservation piece for National Geographic. The kind of photograph that made people care about something they’d never even thought about before. I pressed down slowly, hearing the soft click of the camera. “Got you." I whispered, lowering the lens. The orangutan yawned, entirely unimpressed, and swung away into the trees. I couldn’t help but smile. Seven years of this life, and it still got me every time the wildness, the unpredictability, the sense that I belonged to no one and nothing except the next shot, the next story, the next flight. My satellite phone buzzed in my pack. I almost ignored it. I was three hours into a four hour hike, sticky with bug spray and heat, and anyone calling could wait. In my world, everything could wait. But something instinct, or the universe’s terrible timing made me dig it out. The screen showed a number I hadn’t seen in six months: Skye. My baby sister. My stomach dropped before I even answered. “Raven.” Her voice cracked my name. I knew before she said anything. “What happened?” I sat heavily on a fallen log, my camera suddenly too heavy in my lap. “It’s Dad." She said, crying. Skye never cried. She was the steady one, the responsible one, the one who stayed. “He had a heart attack this morning. He’s… gone.” The jungle around me seemed louder. Monkeys chattering, insects buzzing, a bird calling sharply somewhere in the distance. The world kept moving, indifferent to mine tilting sideways. “When?” My voice sounded flat, alien. “Four hours ago. Mom tried to call you first, but—” “I was in the field. No signal.” My brain went automatic, cataloging logistics instead of feelings. “I’m in Borneo. It’ll take at least two days to get back. Three, maybe, depending on flights.” “Raven." Skye’s voice softened. “You’re coming back, right?” The question hit me in the chest. Hated that she even had to ask. Hated that I’d given her reason to doubt. “Of course I’m coming back.” I stood, already listing what I needed to do. Pack camp, hike back, contact my editor, book flights. Borneo to Jakarta, Jakarta to Los Angeles, Los Angeles to Anchorage, then the small plane to… Home. I'd have to go home Frostfall Pack territory. Seven years since I’ve been here. Seven years since I’d left everyone I loved and the one I’d broken. Where my childhood bedroom probably still had old posters on the walls. Where my mother probably still looked at me like I’d betrayed everything that mattered. Where he was. "The funeral is in four days." Skye said. "We're waiting for you. And Raven... there's something else." Of course there was. There was always something else. "What?" "Colton's the Alpha now. Has been for three years. He'll be... he'll be at the funeral. Obviously. I just thought you should know before you—" "It's fine." I cut her off, probably too sharply. "It's been seven years, Skye. I'm sure we can be civil for a few days." (1) The silence on the other end told me exactly what my sister thought of that statement. "Just come home." She said finally. "Please. Mom needs you. I need you." She didn't say "Dad needed you too, and now it's too late." But I heard it anyway. "I'll be there as soon as I can. I promise." We said goodbye to the awkward kind where there's too much to say and no good way to say any of it and I stood there in the middle of the Bornean jungle, phone dead in my hand, feeling more lost than I'd ever felt in seven years of wandering. I looked down at my camera. The photo is still displayed on the screen that ancient orangutan with her knowing eyes. She'd looked at peace. Like she knew exactly where she belonged. I'd spent seven years running from the place I belonged, and now I had to go back for the worst possible reason. My dad was dead. And I was going to have to face Colton Ironfang, the man whose heart I'd broken, whose mate bond I'd rejected, who'd almost died because I chose freedom over fate and pretend I was fine. Pretend I hadn't spent seven years trying to outrun a bond that didn't care how many continents I put between us. Pretend that every single place I'd photographed, every beautiful vista and wild landscape, hadn't felt just a little bit empty because he wasn't there to see it with me. I packed up my camera with shaking hands and started the long hike back to base camp. Behind me, the orangutan called out one more time. It sounded almost like laughter.