Finnegan didn’t rush her, but he was ruthlessly efficient. He helped her pack a duffel bag with enough clothes for a couple of days—mostly thermal gear and thick wool socks, warning that the temperature would lower the higher they climbed. He made sure she packed the stuffed wolf, tucking it into the side pocket with a small smile.
"Just in case," he said. He stepped across the hall and returned five minutes later with a canvas sack slung over one of his shoulders.
They took the stairs as quietly as possible. The house was dead quiet around them; the usual chaotic noise of pack activity—the clang of cast-iron pots, the sound of boots on the floor, the echoing laughter. Everything was entirely absent. Pre-dawn light filtered through the high windows, casting long, gray shadows across the
