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13

Tristan

T he wind slammed against the side of the helicopter, but Tristan wasn’t worried.

He’d flown in much worse.

Today, visibility was good, the skies clear, the mountains draped in new snow that swallowed sound and shimmered under the morning sun. Tristan loved this time of year, when the days were already getting colder, but winter wasn’t here yet. He adjusted his grip on the cyclic, fingers moving instinctively, his mind half on the route ahead, half on the weight of the gear in the back.

The mission was clear—just a simple supply drop at the Refuge des Conscrits, one of the many mountain huts in the valley owned by the Club Alpin Francais. In and out.

During the spring and summer months, the refuge housed a restaurant and up to ninety beds for hikers looking to enjoy the natural reserve of Les Contamines. And, though in winter the refuge was closed, the Club Alpin Francais always made sure there were supplies—fuel, food and blankets—for anyone who needed to take shelter there. Tristan, Lorenz, and Alex had been tasked with doing that last supply run before locking the refuge down for winter.

And … there it was. The natural reserve. Tristan opened his mouth to tell Lorenz and Alex that they’d be landing soon?—

Then the impact hit.

A deafening CRACK against the rotor. Metal screeched, and the aircraft lurched sideways.

Tristan’s instincts kicked in. Controls. Stabilize. Find the ground.

“What the hell was that?” Lorenz shouted over the sudden alarm blaring in his headset.

Bird strike? A meteorite? No fucking clue.

The tail rotor was losing control, torque twisting the helicopter violently left.

“Hang on!” Tristan wrestled the helicopter, fighting against the sickening tilt as the mountain loomed closer.

Fuck .

The world blurred. Sky. Snow. Rock. Too fast, too much, too close.

Tristan cut the throttle in an attempt to cushion their descent. The last thing they needed was to spin out of control into a ravine.

The ground rushed up to meet them.

An image entered his mind. Lena, sitting across from him in the bar. The pale column of her throat as she threw her head back and laughed at something he’d said.

He shook his head. No . He had to find a safe spot. A safe?—

Too late. There was a bone-jarring crash, and then everything went dark.

H e was dreaming, and in his dream there was a sharp, metallic hiss.

Tristan blinked, and the dream disappeared, but the world remained hazy. His pulse thundered in his ears. A haze of burnished copper filled his vision. The same color as Lena’s hair. The thought filled him with fear. Something bad had happened, and he wanted Lena as far away from here as possible.

He blinked again at the solid object. There was a huge tree branch in the cockpit with him. The sharp hiss was the wind was howling through the fractured window.

Fuck . He was lucky it hadn’t impaled him.

Snow swirled all around the cabin, making him realize just how cold it was.

Alex. Lorenz.

Tristan unclipped his harness and sucked in a breath—the moment he did, a dull ache in his side sharpened into something deeper. He grimaced and pushed it to the back of his mind. He’d deal with that later.

“Alex! Lorenz!”

There was no answer.

First things first.

The radio.

He flipped the emergency switch. “Mayday, mayday. This is Lieutenant Devallé. Aircraft down near the Refuge des Conscrits.” He glanced at the cracked screen, forcing his blurry vision to focus on the coordinates. “Requesting immediate help. Three crew, two may be injured. Coordinates transmitting now. Over.”

The reply was immediate. “Copy that, Lieutenant. Stay put. Sending rescue.”

Stay put .

Tristan turned, sidestepping the tree branch, and climbed into the back, ignoring the protest in his ribs as he did so.

He reached Alex first. Alex, who wasn’t moving. Blood dripped from a cut on his forehead, all the way down to his chin.

“Shit.” Tristan blinked, leaning against the door for support. A shadow appeared in his peripheral vision, reaching Alex before Tristan could. His face was pale, one wrist bent at an unnatural angle, but he looked otherwise unharmed.

“We have to get out of here,” Tristan said.

“I’ll get him,” Lorenz gritted out, his right arm cradled uselessly against his chest as he lifted Alex against his shoulder, half-dragging him toward the exit.

Tristan forced himself to move. He opened the side door, shaking as the wind howled against them, kicking up clouds of loose snow.

“The refuge,” Lorenz said. “We’ve got to get to the refuge.”

It was there, right there, but might as well be miles away. Tristan placed his arm against the right side of his ribcage, where the pain was worse. He wondered if he’d broken a couple of ribs. But the pain was wrong. Nausea struck him. He swallowed it down. They had to get Alex somewhere safe.

He forced himself to follow Lorenz’s footsteps, one foot after another, until, finally, they were indoors.

“Fuck. It’s not much warmer in here than outside,” Lorenz muttered.

Not much warmer, but at least they were out of the cold. Tristan fell down on his knees beside Alex, pressing two fingers to Alex’s throat. “Pulse is good, and his breathing is steady.”

“I think he hit his head against the wall.”

Fuck . His friends could have died back there.

“It was a good landing, Tristan,” Lorenz said, as if reading Tristan’s mind. “Best anybody could have managed.”

Tristan’s skin felt clammy. Maybe it was the sight of the gash on Alex’s temple. Jesus.

“You okay, Tristan?”

“I … I’m not a big fan of blood when it’s … all over the place,” he said.

Lorenz laughed. “You know what I’m not a fan of? Breaking my wrist again. The same fucking wrist.”

Tristan winced. “Sorry, man.”

Alex stirred. Tristan breathed a sigh of relief. “Let me go find a blanket,” he said, standing up. He was barely upright when pain ripped through his side like a serrated blade.

His vision whited out for half a second. No way this was a broken rib. Something worse .

He braced against the wall, sucking in short, shallow breaths.

“Tristan?” Lorenz was beside him in an instant.

Tristan wanted to answer, to let him know he was okay, but he was dizzy now, his balance off. Heat was building in his gut, deep and … wrong. He pressed a hand to his right side, where the pain was sharpest, and saw stars. An actual constellation of them.

Lorenz must’ve seen something in his face because his expression shifted to alarm.

“Sit down, Tristan. Sit before you fall over.”

That would have been the clever thing to do, but it was too late. Tristan’s legs gave out, and the world tilted sideways once again.