EMMA
I don’t remember falling.
One moment I’m standing, lungs on fire, snow biting into my ankles, the forest pressing in from every side—and the next, my knees give out. I hit the ground hard, palms scraping over ice, breath tearing out of me in a broken sound that doesn’t feel human.
I curl inward, arms wrapping around myself as if I can hold my heart in place.
He’s close.
Too close.
The bond is no longer a whisper. It’s a scream.
My chest aches like something is clawing its way out from the inside, pulling me toward him with a force I can’t fight anymore. Every instinct I have—every raw, animal part of me I didn’t know existed—wants to turn. Wants to run to him. Wants to submit to the gravity of his presence.
I hate it.
I hate how my body betrays me.
Snow crunches.
Slow. Deli
