MAYA'S POV
The cold wasn't a temperature; it was a predator. It bit through my clothes, seeped into my bones with every step through the frozen underbrush. My mind, though, was a white-hot forge. It spun on two tracks: the next safe foothold in the dark, and the man moving silently beside me.
"Log," Liam whispered, his hand a firm guide at my elbow as I stepped over it. His touch lingered a half-second after I cleared it.
"We're following his coordinates," I said, my breath a cloud. "What if it's another trap?"
"Then we're walking into it with our eyes open this time." His voice was low, etched with a fatigue that went deeper than bone. "But the photo was real. The Suburbans were on our road. He bought us this time."
"At what cost?" I asked. The woods felt like a cathedral, our voice
