Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Playing the long game is going to be the death of me.
“The Ice Caves are old,” Aric starts. His voice is low, clipped, but steady enough to sound like a lecture. “Thousands of years old, some of the oldest glacial formations in the Northwest. People have used them as shelters, burial sites, even meeting grounds. That’s why Dr. Tyrson assigned them. We’re supposed to take notes about the structures themselves, how they’ve lasted this long—”
I cut him off with a sharp laugh. “I, too, have a syllabus, professor. And guess what? I can read. You don’t have to tell me what to do—we’re partners, remember?”
His jaw ticks. “I just don’t trust you. And one of us actually cares about grades. Graduating. Escaping.”
The word hits harder than it should.
I keep my eyes fixed on the storm-tossed road ahead. “What makes you think I don’t want to escape, too?”
Silence fills the car, heavy and suffocating.
Finally he mutters, “You had the chance to run. You didn’t.”
I let out a shaky breath, trying for a heart-to-heart I’m not sure I have the courage for. “You’re right. I had a chance once. A moment of hope. A cruel, fleeting moment in my life where what my father planned for me seemed almost like an escape. I dared to hope…” My throat tightens. “I saw it like a crack in the void, a slit of light I thought I could slip through.”
He doesn’t respond.
So I keep talking, words scraping raw on the way out. “But I forgot about the chains. The ones still wrapped around my legs. My mind might be free, my heart, too, but my ability to run? Frozen.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I swear I hear it anyway—the faintest whisper of wind in the car, carrying words he’ll never admit aloud.
Just like me.
I glance at my phone, desperate for distraction. Three missed calls from my father. Three unread texts. My pulse spikes.
Shit.
“So…the four big Ice Caves, right?” I ask, forcing my voice steady.
“Yup,” Aric answers without looking at me. “We’re going to the ice.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I plaster on a smile I don’t feel. “All right. To the ice.”
My phone dings again. I take a deep breath and finally gain the courage to check my text messages.
Odinfather: In class? Updates?
He rarely says please, so I’m not sure why I’m expecting one now.
Odinfather: I’m sure you’ve already made contact with Rowen. I sent him in so you’re reminded of what you will lose if you don’t succeed. The ice is very thin, daughter.
A choking sensation wraps itself around my neck. Dammit. This is one time I did not want to be right.
Odinfather: Rowen just told me you’re off campus. I didn’t send you there to play their games. You aren’t one of them. You never will be. You have a job to do. Do not disappoint me.
Rowen told him I’m off campus? It’s a school assignment! Whose side is he on? But I guess he had to tell his boss. And Rowen would describe without any detail, so it’s not totally his fault.
My phone goes off again.
Odinfather.
A picture of Laufey.
My stomach clenches. She doesn’t look hurt, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t.
I don’t need the reminder that she’s waiting, that the clock is ticking. That her life hangs in the balance. I’ve seen Father kill. He’s heartless. Laufey risked the very real and unhinged wrath of Odin to give me that note. It has to be significant. I refuse to believe otherwise.
I read off the runes again in my head.
Raido. It was there, in the Hall of Ormir. It means journey.
Is this going to be my journey, then?
I turn my gaze to a very still and focused Aric. I’m used to disappointment, I bathe in fear of my father, but the last thing I need is to develop a weakness for my enemy and wish for the one thing I’ve never truly had.
A friend.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Rey
An hour of slow torture—no music, just the sound of the engine and my own breathing—and we finally pull into the gravel parking lot at the trailhead.
“Whoa.” The word slips out before I can stop it.
I’ve seen plenty of strange things, but nothing like this.
It feels less like Washington and more like we’ve been dropped into the middle of Norway or Switzerland. Snowcapped ridges loom above us, their shadows stretching long and cold across the lot. Jagged boulders jut out at impossible angles, the kind that make you wonder how long they’ve been here and what they’ve witnessed.
There’s a chill in the air, heavier than mountain weather—an eerie weight that makes my skin prickle, like maybe we shouldn’t be trespassing at all. Like maybe we should get back in the car. Now.
The wind picks up as the storm brews overhead.
Aric slams his door, gaze cutting toward the trailhead sign half buried in snow. I’m very glad I changed into jeans before heading to the dining hall. Spandex shorts would not be it for this hike. “This path was used as a burial route,” he mutters. “Old tribes brought their dead up here, left offerings at the caves. Some of the bones are still sealed in the ice.”