Page 41 of Thaw of Spring (Knife’s Edge, Alaska #2)

A mka reached for the lemon bucket again and realized, too late, it was already full. She tried to remember filling it. Her brain felt like it had a time delay, like she was working underwater.

She leaned on the bar for a second. Just a second. Her legs buzzed. Her shoulders felt like lead. Her whole body was one big, throbbing mess.

Dutch now slept in his chair by the fire, his chin down, his breath even.

Across the room, Steve told some loud story about a bear and an airhorn.

Helene pretended to laugh, but her glass was empty again.

Unless she waved, Amka wasn’t refilling it.

Lorrie had gone quiet, her eyes dim, and May…

May was fully asleep on the bar, arms tucked under her head, a doctor puddle in rumpled scrubs.

Amka glanced at the clock. Christian would be back shortly, and she had every intention of closing down when he arrived.

A tray clattered onto the bar beside her.

“I’ll help,” Nixi said, her purple hair spiked up and her blue eyes surprisingly clear. “You look wrecked.”

Amka looked over at her, startled. “What?”

“You’re toast. I can see it all over you.” Nixi motioned to the tables. “Let me bus. I could use some exercise, and I’m tired of listening to Steve hit on all three of us. The guy is seriously lonely, and that’s just an ick for me.”

Amka opened her mouth to brush off the help, but the words didn’t come. Her throat tightened. She bit back the refusal and gave a slow nod. “Thanks,” she said. “Yeah. I appreciate the help.”

Nixi gave her a small smile, already moving through the bar like she owned the place. Efficient. Graceful. Like she wasn’t wearing the same boots she’d worn to cross three rivers that week, if her last post was to be believed.

Amka grabbed a rag and started wiping down the bar again—an actual dirty spot this time. “Didn’t peg you as the dishwashing type.”

“I’m not,” Nixi said, stacking glasses. “But I’ve had enough tequila and tragic Instagram DMs for one night. Felt like time to be human again.”

Amka snorted. “That bad?”

Nixi shrugged. “Worse. Some guy sent me a picture of his kneecap and asked if it looked infected.”

“Why?”

“Apparently, I mentioned in a post that I once dated a paramedic. That’s all it takes now.”

Amka shook her head, still smiling. “How’d you get into all that, anyway? The followers. The hiking. The selfies with yaks or whatever.”

Nixi paused, her tray half full. “You want the honest version?”

“Absolutely.”

Nixi exhaled a laugh and leaned her hip against a barstool. “All right. I had a fiancé. Classiest and smartest guy I ever met, with broad shoulders and a stamina that wouldn’t quit. He wasn’t ready for, well, us, and he broke my heart. Right in two.”

“I’m sorry. The dumbass. He couldn’t be that smart if he let you go.”

“Right? The cliché burns more than the betrayal. I left town with nothing but a credit card and a backpack and figured I’d just…keep moving.”

Amka grinned. “And become famous?”

“I didn’t try to. I posted a video of me screaming into the Grand Canyon. People liked it.”

Amka laughed. The sensation felt strange in her chest. “That’s it? You screamed into a canyon and it went viral?”

Nixi’s eyes sparkled, and in her capri jeans and blue flannel, she looked like a sprite. “People love a meltdown. Especially when it’s well-lit.”

They worked in silence for a bit, stacking chairs, clearing dishes, wiping tables. It felt weirdly good to be doing something without thinking, without plotting, without fearing every shadow that moved. Just her and Nixi. Motion and heat and dish soap.

“Do you like it?” Amka asked eventually. “The life, I mean.”

“I like the parts where I’m on top of a mountain,” Nixi said. “Not so much the part where people think that makes me whole.”

Amka understood that all too well. The way people looked at her behind the bar and assumed she was fine. She could pull a perfect pint and smile while her world crumbled in the walk-in freezer. “You’re good at this,” she said quietly, nodding at the now-pristine tables.

Nixi rolled her neck. “I’m good at surviving. The rest I make up as I go.”

They carried the last trays of dishes into the kitchen. The space was silent, clean, still smelling faintly of garlic and heat. It should have seemed peaceful.

But Amka felt the weight in her chest returning. There was a note by the register saying someone thought she was a killer. That Flossy deserved to hang. That fifty grand had to appear by Friday. She didn’t even know who she could trust anymore.

Except, maybe Nixi.

Nixi stood by the dish pit, sleeves rolled up. She looked like she belonged there. Not glamorous. Not curated. Just…real.

“Hey, thanks again,” Amka said, pushing open the kitchen door. She might as well collect the dishes from the drunk trio joking loudly about insurance and influencers.

Nixi looked over her shoulder and grinned. “Anytime. Seriously. It feels good to help someone who’s not trying to get me to sponsor their beard oil.” She stepped toward the sink.

Amka moved into the bar, pausing when a loud, sharp metallic pop echoed from the kitchen. She froze. “Nixi?”

An explosion hit with a ferocious bang. A white-hot flash blew beneath the door. A roar like a collapsing roof thundered. The entire kitchen rocked with sound as dishes must’ve shattered.

Amka shoved at the door, fighting a heated current. The fire alarm screamed. “Nixi!” she yelled.

No response.

Just the crackle of fire.

And a single, broken sound—something between a gasp and a groan—from inside the smoke.

The blast hit just as Christian reached the front door of the tavern.

A bone-deep whump of pressure punched the front windows of the structure, followed by the sharp crack of glass.

His gut clenched so hard he gasped. Amka.

He didn’t wait. He ran.

The door slammed open as he charged inside, adrenaline already surging through his veins. The tavern was chaos with smoke in the air, chairs tipped, a few people shouting. A wineglass rolled across the floor and shattered against a stool.

The scent of smoke wasn’t campfire. It was industrial, with scorched insulation, burning oil, something chemical and wrong. He scanned the room out of habit, making sure nobody else was on the ground. No visible casualties, yet.

Behind the bar, Amka was trying to get through the kitchen door, shoulder down, shoving against it like sheer willpower could move it.

“Get back,” he barked, vaulting the bar in one clean move.

She turned, ash streaking her face. Her eyes met his, wild and terrified. “Nixi’s still in there.”

There wasn’t time to argue. He wrapped an arm around her waist, lifted her up, and planted her on the bar in one smooth motion. “Get over there and stay down. In case there’s another explosion.”

She didn’t argue. She swiveled around and dropped behind the bar like she’d done it a thousand times. Her eyes tracked him the whole way.

Dutch came up like a freight train, boots pounding. His nostrils flared at the smoke as he leaned down and grabbed the red fire extinguisher. “Let me go first.”

“I’ll get the girl, you take the fire.” Christian shoved open the kitchen door, bracing against the wave of heat and thick black smoke that poured out. The stench was of fire, scorched oil, and melted plastic. Heat pressed against him like a solid force. Breathing hurt.

“Nixi!” he roared into the chaos, eyes already watering.

A faint cough answered, thin and desperate.

He dropped low and entered. Muscle memory took over. Breathe through the shirt. Stay under the smoke line. Count your steps.

The kitchen was wrecked. Fire danced along the stainless steel counters, eating through a stack of takeout boxes.

Grease sizzled in a broken fryer. Light fixtures popped and flickered.

Visibility was trash. The heat had teeth.

Glass crunched beneath his boots. He kept his head down, sweeping the floor with one hand. The coughing came again. Closer now.

He found her against the industrial fridge, curled in on herself, face smeared with soot and blood. One of her arms was pinned awkwardly behind her. Her flannel shirt had burn marks on one sleeve, and her lips were cracked.

“I’ve got you,” he said, scooping her up in a controlled lift, careful with her neck. She didn’t weigh much.

Her lips moved, barely audible. Her eyelids fluttered open, unfocused.

Dutch stormed in behind him, fire extinguisher blasting foam, cutting through the flames. The sound was deafening in the tight space. White mist overtook red.

Christian turned and carried Nixi back through the smoke, past the boiling metal, and into the main bar. He laid her on the floor behind the bar, away from the worst of the heat. The fire wasn’t spreading, but they’d need to evacuate into the cold soon. “May?”

The doctor was already vaulting a stool, hair messy, face pale but focused. “Clear space,” she ordered, dropping to her knees. “I need a towel. Water.”

Amka shoved both into her hands seconds later. Her own shook, but her grip didn’t falter. Her gaze never left Nixi’s face.

Nixi coughed again, lungs rattling. Her eyes shot open, frantic, lost. She gasped and reached for Christian’s sleeve. “Пожар. Всё горит. Он сказал не подходить…”

Amka leaned over. “Is that Russian?”

Christian gripped Nixi’s shoulder gently, his thumb finding the warm skin at her collarbone. “Yeah,” he murmured, the translation automatic. He’d learned the language in the service, buried it, but it came roaring back. “She’s saying everything’s burning. That the fire’s coming closer.”

May’s face darkened. “She’s inhaled something. Possibly concussed. We need to get her out of here. Now.”

Christian lifted her again. Nixi whimpered, coughed, but didn’t resist.

Amka stood, shaken but solid. “Take her. I’ll wait for Lucas and the fire truck.”

“No. You’re with us,” Christian ordered.

Dutch came out of the kitchen, extinguisher hissing in his grip, his face streaked with soot. “Fire’s down,” he said. “Decent explosion. I’ll call Brock and the troopers, and I’ll close the place down.”

“Thanks.” Christian carried Nixi outside and toward the doctor’s truck with May and Amka running beside him. Cold air hit them as they moved. The contrast slapped the sweat from his skin and cleared the smoke from his throat.

Nixi’s fingers curled into his jacket, just barely. She coughed once more, then her eyes opened a sliver. “Не оставляй меня,” she whispered.

Don’t leave me. Christian interpreted her words instantly. “I’m right here,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She rasped out one more word, her voice thinner than air. “Damian.”

Then she went completely limp in his arms and her eyelids fluttered shut.