Page 152 of Shadow

Jackson looked at him then, raised a brow.

And Asher smiled. “Yeah, she is.”

And then she was right there, sitting beside him, holding his hand as they screamed out of the parking garage. “I’ve got you,” she said, her voice close to his ear. “And I’m not letting go.”

And Asher—floating on pain medication as the darkness took him and the world went quiet—believed her.

“It might be too cold for this kind of fun.”

Asher looked back at Daphne, bundled up in a wool hat, a parka, and hiking boots, and nodded. “Not much farther.”

“You’re the one two weeks out of surgery. I still think this is a bad idea.”

“Yeah, well, we wait any longer, and the trail will be under snow.”

“Asher—”

“I’m fine, Daphne. The doctors cleared me for light activity.”

“Light activity is walking around the block. Not climbing mountains.”

“It’s a hill.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’d better not die on me.”

Asher stopped. Turned and reached for her and pulled her close.

Then he kissed her. Hand around her neck, almost a possessiveness in his touch. He let her go, met her eyes. “That feel like I’m near death?”

She laughed.

“Okay then.” He took her hand. “Come on,” he said. “Almost there.”

The morning had started gray. Heavy clouds hanging low over the mountains. The air cold enough that Daphne had pulled on a jacket over her sweater. Not ideal hiking weather.

But Asher had insisted. Had said it needed to be today. Had looked at her with those gray-green eyes and said, “Please.”

So she’d said yes.

The foothills trail wound through stands of pine and scrub oak, the same terrain where Sierra Blackwood’s SAR team had found those lost hikers over a year ago. Daphne had read the report—mountain lion, armed trespasser, broken leg. Standard mountain rescue turned complicated.

It had been the first clue to the terrible reach of the Shadow Syndicate.

The trail rose steadily, following the ridge line, although they were far under the 6,800 feet. Below them, the valley floor spread out in patches of brown and gold, the last stubborn color before winter claimed everything. She could see the edge of the Blackwood ranch from here, and beyond it, the national forest that stretched endlessly toward the high peaks.

Asher paused where the trail curved around a massive boulder formation, granite streaked with veins of quartz that caught what little light filtered through the clouds. His hand went to his pocket—that unconscious gesture she’d noticed over the past weeks. The vintage pocketknife his father had given him. She’d returned it to him when he’d gotten out of the hospital.

He pulled it out now, turning it over in his palm.

“Our last camping trip was on this mountain,” he said quietly. “Gemma loved it here.”

Daphne moved closer, near enough to feel his warmth in the cold mountain air. “She’d be proud of you.”

“I know.” He looked at her, and something in his expression made her chest tighten.

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of pine and the promise of snow. The kind of weather that could turn dangerous fast if you weren’t careful.

“She would’ve liked you,” Asher said, staring out at the mountains. “My sister. She would’ve called you bossy.”