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Tristan

E ngaging the ground lock, Tristan ran through the final systems and instruments check, his hands moving on instinct. The Choucas74 was truly a beautiful machine.

He and Kat, the pilot in their sibling PGHM team, often argued about this. While Kat favored the larger Eurocopter EC145, Tristan had always liked the Choucas74 for its superior stability and maneuverability in high altitude environments.

The crisp night air rushed in as Lorenz popped open the side door, the high-altitude chill mixing with the lingering heat of the cockpit. Tristan watched as Lorenz jumped out of the helicopter and then reached back inside to help their passengers, two women who had gotten distracted and had missed the last télécabine from the ice cave.

“Thank you so much, dears,” the older of the two ladies said in her thick Scottish accent, batting her eyelashes at Lorenz. “I don’t know what we would have done without your help.” She didn’t release Lorenz, even once she was safely on the ground. If anything, her hands tightened appreciatively on his biceps. Tristan stifled a laugh.

“It was our pleasure, Ma’am,” Lorenz said as he carefully extricated himself from the older woman’s grip, giving a polite but firm nod before taking a step back.

Her friend, a shorter woman with tightly curled gray hair and a bright red jacket, clutched her purse and gave a sheepish laugh. “We certainly didn’t mean to cause such a fuss,” she said, glancing back. “I told Mary we should have checked the time, but she just had to get one more look at the glacier.”

“I don’t regret a thing,” Mary said, straightening her scarf with dramatic flair. “Wait until we tell our friends back home that we were rescued by the handsome men of the PGHM.”

Lorenz cleared his throat. “Next time, ma’am, just be sure to check the last departure times. It can get dangerous up here after dark.”

Thankfully, the two women had had the presence of mind to break into the small ticket office and use the phone to call the PGHM. Even in early autumn, the air turned frigid fast at that altitude.

Mary sighed dramatically. “Oh, I know, dear. And believe me, I’ll be telling this story for years. Rescued from the Alps by French heroes—what an adventure!”

“And you must be our pilot,” the one called Mary oohed, turning to look at Tristan. “Such a smooth landing.” Tristan shared an amused glance with Lorenz as he stretched out the slight stiffness in his shoulders.

“After you, ladies,” he said, gesturing toward the vehicle, where one of the mountain staff was waiting to receive them.

“Oh, such gentlemen,” Mary crooned as they made their way toward the building. “Do you two ever get tired of playing the role of dashing saviors?”

Lorenz muttered something under his breath that Tristan couldn’t quite catch.

After ensuring the women were safely handed off, Tristan turned back toward the helicopter, only to find Lorenz giving him a long-suffering look.

“You good? I thought they were going to take you back to their hotel with them. As a souvenir of the experience,” Tristan said, laughing.

“Me? You’re the one with the smooth landing ,” Lorenz laughed, clapping him on the back.

Tristan exhaled, shaking his head with a chuckle.

“What can I say? Another day, another rescue,” he murmured. At least this one didn’t require a stretcher. He pulled out his phone and quickly checked for messages.

“Anything from Damien? There’d better not be another call before we get home,” Lorenz grumbled. Tristan laughed. It wouldn’t be the first time a night shift had been extended long into daylight. The Alps never really slept, and the men and women of the PGHM couldn’t afford to do so either.

“Nothing from Damien.” Nothing from Lena, either. He’d imagined a very different end to this evening, one which would have ended with him and Lena in bed together. He wondered if she’d stopped by the bar after he’d left. As slim as the chances were, he was half-tempted to go back and ask the bartender.

“Could you drop me off in town, Tristan?” Lorenz asked. “My car’s in the shop.”

“Sure thing.”

Half-way into town, Lorenz looked down at his phone and chuckled darkly.

“What is it?”

“Alex. He’s bombarding us with some weird questions. Not sure where he’s getting these from. Ethical dilemma number 1,” Lorenz read out. “You’re driving fast along an empty road when, suddenly, two people appear in front of you. On the left is a pregnant woman. On the right, two young kids. Ahead of you is a brick wall. You don’t have enough time to brake. If you hit the wall, you will die. What do you do?”

“Why wouldn’t I have time to brake?” Tristan asked.

“You just don’t. That’s the point.”

Tristan knew Lorenz well enough to know which one his friend would choose. But he wasn’t that selfless. There were things he’d want to know before making a decision—not things he felt like talking about.

“I’ve no idea,” Tristan said smoothly.

“It’s a stupid question, anyway,” Lorenz agreed.

Tristan’s gaze drifted to the twinkling patchwork of golden lights against the dark expanse of the mountains behind. The contrast always struck him—the raw, untamed wilderness pressing right up against civilization.

“So,” Lorenz drawled. “You going to go looking for her?”

Tristan didn’t need to ask who Lorenz was talking about. His PGHM colleagues were family to him—hell, he was closer to them than to his own family—so of course he’d told them about Lena. He just hadn’t mentioned that she’d stood him up.

He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, keeping his expression neutral. “You mean Lena?”

“No, I mean Marie, the charming Scottish lady who just tried to smuggle us back to her hotel room.” Lorenz smirked. “Of course I mean Lena. I thought you guys were supposed to go out together tonight.”

Tristan sighed, unwilling to lie to his friend. “She stood me up.”

“I’m sorry, man.” Lorenz didn’t push any further until they were outside his flat. “Thanks for the ride. Maybe you should call her.” He didn’t wait for Tristan to respond before he hopped onto the sidewalk, shutting the door behind him with a solid thud. He gave Tristan a two-fingered salute before heading off, his silhouette disappearing into the glow of the streetlights.