Chapter One: The Fall
Skye Jamison had been counting clouds for the past forty-five minutes. Anything to distract herself from the tight hum of anxiety crawling up her spine—and the boy sitting one seat over.
Theo Wolfe.
Even his name annoyed her.
He was that kind of boy: all sharp cheekbones and sharper sarcasm, the kind of guy who made teachers sigh with exasperation and girls with crushes. They’d known each other for years—not close, not quite enemies, but definitely not friends. Not since the eighth-grade science fair. Not since he’d called her “Princess Disaster” and told everyone her volcano project had exploded because she couldn’t read instructions.
Skye hadn’t forgotten.
Now here they were, stuck on the same regional flight to Fairbanks, Alaska, both attending the same outdoor survival summer program their parents thought would “build character.”
She had a pencil tucked behind one ear, a sketchbook in her lap, and earbuds playing lo-fi music to drown out the engine’s low whine. Theo was slouched beside her, legs too long, arms crossed like the whole world bored him.
The plane hit a pocket of turbulence.
Skye’s pencil jerked, leaving a streak across her lyrics.
“Great,” she muttered, flipping the page.
Theo didn’t even glance over.
Outside the window, the world was cotton and blue—endless clouds rolling like waves, with sharp Alaskan peaks slicing through the horizon. It should’ve been beautiful.
Then the second jolt came.
Harder.
The kind that didn’t feel like turbulence.
Skye’s stomach lurched. Coffee sloshed onto her lap from the cup on the tray table. An overhead bin popped open three rows up, spilling someone’s bag into the aisle.
A gasp rippled through the cabin.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated—” the captain’s voice crackled over the intercom, sharp with static and stress.
And then everything went wrong at once.
A grinding noise. Metal shrieking. A sudden pitch of the plane to the left.
The oxygen masks dropped like startled birds from the ceiling.
People screamed.
Skye clutched the armrests. Her sketchbook hit the floor.
The world outside her window spun—clouds, sky, mountains—over and over again. The engine on the left wing burst into orange flame.
The smell of smoke filled the cabin.
And beside her, Theo grabbed the sides of his seat so hard his knuckles turned white. Their eyes met for the first time that flight.
He didn’t say anything. Neither did she.
There were no words for the way the world was breaking.
Skye’s chest heaved. Her mouth tasted like metal.
The plane dipped again, lower this time.
The mountains were too close now.
The screaming got louder.
Someone started praying.
A baby cried.
And in those final moments before impact, all Skye could think was this can’t be it. Not yet. Not like this.
The last thing she heard before everything went black was the sound of trees shattering like matchsticks.
And the sky, roaring as it fell.
Chapter Two: After
Skye woke to silence.
It was the kind of silence that presses against your ears and makes your chest ache. No engines. No screaming. No oxygen masks. Just… cold. And snow. And a sky that looked impossibly close, like you could reach out and touch the clouds.
Her head throbbed. Pain lanced through her ribs and shoulders as she pushed herself up. Everything smelled like smoke, ice, and metal. Shards of the plane littered the snow, jagged and sharp. Seats were twisted into grotesque shapes, and her sketchbook lay a few feet away, pages damp and smeared.
Theo groaned somewhere down the aisle. Skye forced herself to turn toward the sound. There he was, tangled in a heap of seatbacks, one eyebrow bleeding. His hair was matted, his jacket torn, but he was alive.
“W-Wolfe?” she croaked. Her voice felt foreign in the cold.
He groaned again, blinking slowly. “Jamison?”
“Yeah… you’re alive.” Relief hit her chest with a weight that almost made her collapse again.
“You’re alive too,” he said, sitting up and wincing. His lips twisted into a grimace that might’ve been a smile if he wasn’t clearly in pain.
They didn’t speak for a long moment. They just assessed each other like soldiers checking battle scars. Neither wanted to admit they were scared.
Then the snow started falling harder, tiny white needles that stung exposed skin. The plane’s fuselage offered little protection.
“We need to get somewhere safe,” Skye said finally. Her voice was firm now, as if saying it out loud made it real.
Theo nodded. “There’s an emergency pack back there. Supplies. Maybe a flare gun.”
Together, they limped through the wreckage, stepping over torn luggage, frozen puddles of coffee, and seats bent like broken bones. They reached a small storage compartment and found the survival kit: one thermal sleeping bag, a flare gun with two flares, a few energy bars, and water packets. Not much. Not nearly enough.
Skye held up the sleeping bag like it personally offended her. “One bag,” she said flatly.
Theo didn’t flinch. “We’ll rotate. Or freeze to death. Your choice.”
Her jaw tightened. “You’ve always been such a jerk, Wolfe.”
“And you’ve always been such a princess, Jamison,” he replied evenly.
She rolled her eyes, ignoring the shiver that had nothing to do with cold.
That night, they huddled back-to-back in the single sleeping bag, the fire they managed to start crackling weakly between them. Their shoulders brushed occasionally, but neither spoke. Each was lost in thought—pain, fear, frustration, and, weirdly, relief. Relief that neither had died when the world had almost ended. Relief that the other was still here.
Neither of them slept much. The fire sputtered, the wind howled outside, and the forest seemed alive with danger: the whisper of a branch snapping, the distant howl of a wolf. Every noise made Skye flinch, every shadow made Theo tense.
Eventually, exhaustion overtook them. Skye drifted into a fitful sleep, one hand clutching the fire-heated edge of the sleeping bag, the other hand gripping Theo’s arm by accident. He didn’t move. And in the darkness, for just a moment, the weight of the world seemed lighter.
Morning came in pale gray light. The snow had settled deeper, covering much of the wreckage. The world was still harsh, still cold, still dangerous—but at least they were alive.
Theo stirred, brushing a strand of ice-crusted hair from his forehead. “We need to move. Find help. Or at least something that looks like civilization.”
Skye nodded, pulling on her wet gloves. The first day of survival had begun, and neither of them had a clue what was ahead. But for the first time, she realized that surviving wasn’t just about avoiding death—it was about surviving it… together.
Even if they hated each other.
Chapter Three: Enemies with Benefits (of Fire)
Day two in the Alaskan wilderness was already testing their patience—and their sanity.
Theo led the way, boots crunching on the frozen ground, eyes scanning the trees and snowdrifts like a predator. Skye followed, notebook strapped to her backpack, fingers numb despite her gloves. She wasn’t used to walking so much, let alone in temperatures that made her face sting with every breath.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice muffled by her scarf.
“Anywhere not under a plane,” Theo said without looking back. His voice was sharp, clipped, like every word was a challenge.
Skye rolled her eyes. “Oh, helpful. Very specific. That narrows it down to… everything.”
Theo smirked. “You’re welcome.”
The day was a mix of trudging through deep snow, navigating around fallen trees, and arguing about the best way to stay warm. Skye suggested they ration the energy bars. Theo said they should eat now while they still had strength. Neither budged.
By midday, hunger gnawed at them. Skye’s stomach rumbled embarrassingly loud. Theo pretended not to notice, crunching on his last energy bar like it was a medal.
“Seriously?” Skye said, glaring. “You’re going to eat the only bar left and just… stare at me?”
“I was saving it for later,” he said, eyes narrowing in mock seriousness. “You know, for emergencies.”
“You’re the emergency,” she snapped. “And trust me, your sarcasm isn’t helping.”
They stumbled upon a shallow stream, half-frozen but still flowing. Theo knelt to drink, cupping the icy water in his hands. Skye followed, grimacing as her lips went numb from the cold.
“Don’t drink too fast,” Theo warned. “Hypothermia loves fresh water.”
Skye muttered something under her breath. Theo raised an eyebrow.
“Nothing,” she said, trying to sound innocent.
Night came faster than expected, the sky a dull gray that gave way to bitter darkness. They found a small cave tucked against a ridge—more of a rock overhang than a proper shelter—but it blocked the wind.
“I’ll take first watch,” Theo said immediately. “You can sleep. Try not to freeze.”
Skye shot him a look. “I’m not a baby.”
“You might be once we hit minus twenty,” he said, shrugging.
They managed to start a fire with the small flint kit from the survival pack. Sparks flew, some hitting the rocks and snow, sending tiny bursts of light into the darkness. The warmth was welcome, but not enough to thaw the tension between them.
“I still can’t believe we’re stuck together like this,” Skye muttered, poking at the fire with a stick. Sparks showered her gloves. “You… you never change, do you?”
Theo smirked. “And you never stop whining.”
They bickered through the night—arguments about which way to head, how to use the sleeping bag, and whose fault the crash really was. Somehow, amidst all the grumbling, a rhythm emerged. A reluctant teamwork born of necessity.
Eventually, exhaustion won. They curled up back-to-back in the single sleeping bag. Their shoulders touched, a connection neither wanted to acknowledge. The warmth was minimal, but enough.
For a few hours, they dozed, listening to the wind moan outside and the faint crackle of the dying fire. Every snap of a branch or crunch of snow made their hearts leap—but at least they were together.
When dawn crept over the horizon, painting the snow pink and gold, Skye realized something startling. She didn’t hate him as much as she thought. Not entirely. Maybe a little less.
Theo stirred beside her, still half-asleep, and muttered, “Don’t get used to it.”
Skye smiled faintly. “Too late, Wolfe. Too late.”
But neither of them said it aloud. Not yet.
They were still enemies. Still survivors. Still, somehow, beginning to rely on each other in ways neither wanted to admit.
And deep down, neither could stop thinking about the fire… and how it wasn’t just the flames keeping them warm.
Chapter Four: Wolves, Mountains, and Other Problems
The third day began with a sound that wasn’t the wind.
Skye woke first. A sharp crack—like a stick breaking under weight—snapped her out of a restless dream. For a heartbeat she thought it was Theo shifting in his sleep, but he was still curled beside her in the single sleeping bag, breath slow and even.
The sound came again. Closer.
Her eyes darted to the mouth of the cave. The world outside was an endless sheet of white and gray, the snow glowing faintly beneath a pale sky. She held her breath, waiting.
Crunch.
Something moved in the trees.
Skye nudged Theo hard enough to make him grunt. “Wolfe,” she whispered.
“What?” His voice was groggy.
“Something’s out there.”
He blinked awake instantly, every muscle tensing. “Where?”
“Trees,” she breathed. “Left side.”
Theo reached for the flare gun but didn’t fire. Instead, he listened. The wind whistled over the rocks, carrying faint, rhythmic noises—footsteps? Pawsteps?
Then came a low, drawn-out howl.
Skye’s blood went cold.
“Wolves,” Theo said flatly.
Another howl answered from farther away, then another. A chorus building in the distance.
“Are they… close?” she asked, voice trembling despite her best effort.
“Close enough,” Theo said. “Pack animals. They’ll circle if they smell food.”
Skye’s stomach clenched. They had the last two energy bars and the water packets. Wolves didn’t care about packaging.
Theo stood and peered into the woods, shoulders squared. “We need to move before they find the scent.”
“In the dark?”
“It’s either that or wait for them to come to us.”
They packed quickly, dousing the small fire and cramming supplies back into the emergency kit. Theo led the way through the trees, steps fast but careful. Skye followed, trying to match his pace, heart hammering with every crunch of snow.
The forest felt alive, breathing with them. Each snap of a branch, each shadow between the trees, made Skye flinch.
“How do you even know where we’re going?” she hissed after nearly tripping over a fallen log.
“I don’t,” Theo admitted. “But higher ground gives us a view. And maybe—”
Another howl cut him off, closer this time.
Skye grabbed his sleeve before she could stop herself. “Theo—”
He glanced back, eyes sharp but steady. “Don’t stop. Just move.”
They climbed a ridge, using exposed roots and icy rocks for balance. The cold bit at Skye’s fingers, burning her lungs with every breath. Her legs screamed from the effort, but fear kept her going.
At the top, they paused, panting. From here, the forest stretched out like a white ocean beneath a stormy sky. No villages. No smoke. No rescue.
But there—a faint plume of gray on the far horizon. Smoke.
Theo followed her gaze. “Could be a logging camp,” he said. “Or hunters. Or… anything.”
“Or nothing,” Skye murmured.
“Still better than staying here.”
The howls came again, echoing across the valley. Closer.
Theo cursed under his breath. “We need a fire tonight. Wolves don’t like flame.”
They scrambled down the other side of the ridge as the sun began to set, painting the peaks in bruised purples and fiery reds. Skye’s legs wobbled with exhaustion, and she slipped on a slick patch of ice.
“Skye!” Theo grabbed her arm before she could tumble down the slope. His grip was strong, steady.
“Got you,” he said, pulling her upright.
For a second, neither moved. Their faces were inches apart, breath mingling in the icy air. Skye’s heart thudded—not just from fear.
“Thanks,” she managed, voice barely above a whisper.
Theo released her quickly, as if the contact burned. “Don’t mention it.”
They found a shallow hollow in the snow beneath an overhang of rock and worked to build a fire before night fell. The cold was brutal now, sinking deep into their bones. Theo struck the flint until sparks caught on the dry moss, coaxing a flame to life.
As the fire grew, Skye hugged her knees, staring into the orange glow. “Think the wolves will come?” she asked quietly.
“Not if this stays lit,” Theo said, feeding the flames. “But we’ll take turns keeping watch. Just in case.”
Skye nodded, her mind replaying the climb, the howls, and the moment when his hand had closed around hers. A warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the fire.
Theo stretched his legs and glanced at her. “You okay?”
She gave a small, tired smile. “I’ll let you know when I can feel my toes again.”
He almost smiled back. Almost.
Outside, the wind howled, carrying distant cries from the wolves. But inside their small circle of firelight, they sat shoulder to shoulder, the heat of their bodies mixing with the smoke.
The wilderness wanted to tear them apart.
Instead, it pushed them closer.
Chapter Five: The Softening
The fire was dying.
Skye poked at the embers with a stick, watching the sparks flicker and fade like tiny shooting stars. Outside their makeshift shelter, the wind howled through the trees, carrying the faint, eerie calls of wolves. The sound was distant now, but it threaded through the night like a warning.
Theo sat opposite her, knees drawn up, his face shadowed by the dim orange glow. His eyes looked almost golden in the firelight—sharp and watchful, but softer than she’d ever seen.
Neither of them had spoken in a while. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. More like a truce.
Skye pulled the sleeping bag tighter around her shoulders and shivered. “Think they’re gone?” she asked finally.
Theo glanced toward the darkness. “The wolves? Maybe. Or maybe they’re just waiting for us to screw up.”
“Comforting,” she muttered.
He gave a small shrug, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips. “Hey, honesty’s all I’ve got to offer.”
Skye rolled her eyes, but her chest warmed despite the cold. For once, his teasing didn’t feel like an attack.
Later, when the fire had burned down to glowing coals, Theo stretched his arms and stood. “I’ll take first watch,” he said. “You should sleep before it gets colder.”
Skye shook her head. “We can switch halfway. You’re not the only one who can stay awake, you know.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. But stay wrapped up. No heroics.”
She arched a brow. “Are you… worried about me, Wolfe?”
Theo smirked faintly. “Nah. Just don’t want to drag your frozen corpse through the woods tomorrow.”
“Wow. Romantic.”
But when she lay back inside the sleeping bag, she couldn’t stop the tiny smile curling at her lips.
Hours later, Theo nudged her awake for her turn. The world outside their firelight was an endless black sky littered with stars. Skye sat up, rubbing her eyes, and handed him the sleeping bag as he settled beside her.
The night was brutal and beautiful. The moon cast silver light across the snow, making the forest glow like some otherworldly dream. Their breath rose in faint clouds, the only sign of life in the vast emptiness.
“You ever wonder,” Skye whispered, “if anyone’s even looking for us?”
Theo tilted his head back to the stars. “Yeah. But I try not to think about it. Helps me focus on… you know, not dying.”
Skye hugged her knees. “You really think we can get out of this?”
“Honestly?” He looked at her, eyes steady. “Yeah. Because I’m too stubborn to quit. And because you’d never let me.”
Her breath caught. “That’s… surprisingly sweet for you.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he said with a small, self-conscious grin.
Skye studied him in the moonlight. His hair was a mess of dark curls, his jaw shadowed with the start of stubble. There was a cut above his eyebrow, dried blood streaking his cheek. Somehow, even battered and exhausted, he looked… steady. Strong. Safe.
“Why do you hate me, anyway?” she asked softly.
Theo blinked. “What?”
“You heard me. We’ve been circling each other since eighth grade. You’ve made fun of me every chance you get. What did I ever do to you?”
He hesitated, gaze dropping to the snow. “I… didn’t hate you.”
Skye frowned. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Theo rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, maybe I was a jerk. But it wasn’t because I hated you. You were… you. Loud. Smart. Impossible to ignore. Everyone liked you. I guess I didn’t know how to deal with that.”
Skye blinked, the confession hitting harder than she expected. “So you teased me because… you liked me?”
Theo’s mouth twitched, half a smile, half a grimace. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The stars stretched forever overhead, the cold biting at their skin, but something warm flickered between them—something that had nothing to do with the fire.
Skye shifted closer without thinking, their shoulders brushing. “You’re still kind of a jerk,” she said softly.
Theo smiled, barely. “And you’re still impossible to ignore.”
The space between them felt charged, fragile. One wrong move and it would shatter.
Skye leaned her head against his shoulder, just for a moment. He didn’t move away.
When dawn broke, painting the mountains pink and gold, Skye woke to find Theo still beside her, his arm draped loosely across her shoulders, their breaths rising in slow, even rhythm.
The wilderness was still vast, still deadly, still waiting.
But for the first time since the crash, the fear felt… bearable.
Because for the first time, she wasn’t just surviving with Theo Wolfe.
She was surviving because of him.
Chapter Six: The Signal
By the fourth morning, Skye’s legs felt like splintered wood.
Every step through the snow bit at her muscles, every breath burned her lungs. The cold no longer shocked her—it was just a constant ache, as familiar as the sound of Theo’s boots crunching ahead of her.
They had left the shallow cave at first light, driven by the memory of the distant smoke they’d glimpsed from the ridge the night before. The promise of people—maybe a camp, maybe a rescue team—was a thread of hope neither dared to pull too hard. But it was enough to keep them moving.
Theo carried the emergency pack across his shoulders, his jaw set in the determined silence that Skye was starting to read like a second language. When he finally spoke, it startled her.
“Smoke’s real,” he said, pointing ahead with a gloved hand. “Look.”
Skye squinted through the glare of the morning sun.
Far beyond the endless expanse of white, a faint gray column spiraled into the sky. It wavered in the wind but didn’t fade.
Her heart leapt. “It’s still there.”
“Yeah.” Theo turned to her, eyes bright with something that might have been hope. “If we can reach it before dark—”
A distant howl cut him off.
Skye stiffened. Not wolves this time—something lower, heavier. Maybe a bear. Maybe nothing. But it was enough to remind them that Alaska wasn’t a postcard. It was a test. And they were still in the middle of it.
Theo adjusted the pack. “We move fast. No breaks unless we have to.”
They pushed on.
The terrain grew harsher the closer they got to the smoke. The trees thinned into jagged slopes of ice-slick rock. The wind whipped at their faces, stealing warmth and words. Twice Skye slipped on hidden patches of ice, and both times Theo caught her before she fell.
The second time, she landed against his chest with a soft oof. His hands steadied her waist, firm and warm even through their gloves.
“Careful,” he said, voice low.
Skye tilted her chin up. His face was inches from hers, his breath a faint cloud in the freezing air. For one dizzy second, the world narrowed to the space between them.
“I’m fine,” she said, though her heartbeat begged to differ.
Theo held her gaze a heartbeat longer before letting go. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
By late afternoon, the smoke was clearer. Darker. Closer.
But so was the cold. The temperature plummeted as the sun began its slow slide toward the horizon, painting the snow in bruised shades of purple and gold.
They reached a small clearing just as the light began to fade.
Theo scanned the horizon. “We’ll camp here tonight. If we start a fire, maybe they’ll see us.”
Skye dropped her pack with a groan. “You mean if someone’s actually there.”
Theo crouched, pulling the flare gun from the emergency kit. “This is our best shot. We wait until full dark—flare’ll show better against the sky.”
Skye stared at the small, battered gun. The bright-red casing looked almost fragile in his hands. Two flares. That was all they had.
“What if no one sees it?” she asked softly.
“Then we fire the second tomorrow,” Theo said without hesitation.
“And keep moving.”
Skye swallowed. “What if… no one’s out there at all?”
Theo’s eyes met hers. For once, there was no sarcasm, no teasing. Just quiet certainty.
“Then we keep each other alive,” he said.
They built their fire in the clearing, coaxing sparks into flame with the last of their dry moss. The night crept in, sharp and endless. Stars bloomed across the black sky like frozen fireworks.
Theo stood with the flare gun in his hands, his silhouette cut against the firelight. Skye rose beside him, heart hammering.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded, gripping his sleeve without thinking.
He raised the gun, aimed at the stars, and fired.
The flare shot upward with a hiss, a streak of burning red that lit the forest like a sunrise. Skye tilted her head back, eyes wide as the flare burst high above them, scattering sparks that drifted like falling stars.
It was beautiful. Terrifying. Hope made visible.
Theo lowered the gun but didn’t move away from her. His shoulder brushed hers, steady and warm.
“Someone will see it,” he said quietly.
Skye turned her face toward his. The flare’s fading glow reflected in his eyes, twin sparks of fire in a world of ice.
“I hope you’re right,” she whispered.
“I am,” he said. His voice carried no doubt. “I have to be.”
For a long moment, they stood in silence, watching the sparks fade into the endless dark sky.
And for the first time since the crash, the wilderness didn’t feel infinite.
It felt—just for a heartbeat—like someone might be on their way.
Chapter Seven: Ash and Echoes
The night stretched long after the flare’s burn faded to black.
They waited by the fire until their eyelids sagged from exhaustion, but no sound broke the quiet. No helicopter. No voices. Only the slow crackle of logs and the icy hiss of the wind.
Skye fought sleep like it was another enemy. Someone must have seen it. They had to. Each time her mind drifted, she jerked awake, heart pounding with the thought that help might come while she wasn’t looking.
Theo sat beside her, knees drawn to his chest, the flare gun balanced across his lap. He stared into the flames with a steady intensity that made her wonder what he was thinking. Fear? Strategy? Something softer?
“Still nothing,” she said quietly.
His jaw flexed. “They’ll come.”
“You don’t know that.”
He turned, eyes shadowed by firelight. “I know we’re not invisible. Someone saw the smoke before. Someone has to see that flare.”
The certainty in his voice should have comforted her, but it only made the silence feel louder.
By dawn, the smoke column they’d been chasing was gone.
In its place, only the endless sprawl of forest and jagged white ridges.
Theo shouldered the pack. “We move again.”
Skye’s body screamed for rest, but she nodded. Waiting felt like surrender. At least walking gave the illusion of control.
They followed a narrow game trail that wound along the edge of a frozen stream. The air glittered with frost. Somewhere in the distance, a raven croaked—a harsh, living sound in the vast emptiness.
As they hiked, Skye found herself matching Theo’s pace almost unconsciously. She’d stopped noticing the awkward silences. Their breaths fell into rhythm. Sometimes their gloved hands brushed when the path narrowed, and neither pulled away.
It was terrifying how natural it felt.
By late afternoon, they reached a low ridge and climbed to the top. From there, the world opened—a valley blanketed in snow, ringed by dark peaks. And on the far side of the valley, rising from a copse of black spruce, a flash of orange.
Skye’s breath caught. “Theo—look!”
Not smoke this time. Light.
A small, pulsing glow like a lantern against the dusk.
Theo squinted. “Campfire. Has to be.”
Adrenaline jolted through Skye’s exhausted limbs. “Then let’s—”
“Wait.” His hand shot out, gripping her arm. “Could be hunters. Or worse.”
“Worse than freezing to death?”
Theo hesitated. His eyes swept the valley, calculating.
Skye pulled free. “We don’t have a choice.”
For a second, something fierce flashed in his eyes—fear, frustration, something he wasn’t ready to name. Then he nodded. “Fine. We go. But slow.”
The descent was brutal. The snow deepened with every step, swallowing their boots. Skye’s legs shook from effort and cold, but the glow ahead pulled her forward.
Halfway down the slope, a sound rose through the trees—a distant, rhythmic whup-whup-whup that sent a shock through her chest.
She froze. “Theo… do you hear that?”
He tilted his head, eyes wide.
The sound grew louder. Closer.
A helicopter.
Skye’s heart leapt to her throat. “They found us!”
Theo yanked the flare gun from his pack, fumbling to load the second cartridge. His fingers shook. “Hold your ears.”
He fired.
The flare screamed into the darkening sky, a red comet tearing through the dusk. Seconds later, the helicopter’s searchlight swept across the valley, cutting through the haze like a blade of sunlight.
Skye let out a strangled sob. “Oh my God…”
Theo grabbed her hand—hard, grounding. “They see us!”
The beam passed once, then circled back, locking on the flare’s dying trail. The thrum of rotors grew deafening as the aircraft descended.
Skye clutched Theo’s arm, trembling. Relief crashed over her in a dizzying, almost painful wave. After days of biting cold, endless silence, and gnawing fear, the sound of rescue was almost unbearable.
Theo turned to her, face alight with something she couldn’t name.
Without thinking, she threw her arms around him.
For a heartbeat, he went rigid. Then his arms wrapped around her, strong and certain. He buried his face in her hair.
“We made it,” he whispered against her ear.
Skye held on tighter, the world narrowing to the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart.
The helicopter descended in a whirlwind of snow and noise, but for one long, fragile moment, it felt like the world belonged only to them.
Chapter Eight: Back to Earth
The rotor wash hit like a hurricane.
Snow whipped into a frenzy, slicing across Skye’s cheeks in icy needles as the helicopter descended. The world dissolved into white noise—wind howling, branches snapping, the rhythmic thunder of blades cutting the air.
Theo tightened his grip on her hand.
She didn’t pull away.
A searchlight locked on them, blinding and brilliant. A door slid open above the snow and a voice, tinny through the roar, shouted down through a loudspeaker.
“STAY WHERE YOU ARE! DON’T MOVE!”
As if either of them could move.
A rope ladder dropped, followed by a rescuer in a bright orange parka. He landed in a crouch, snow spraying like shrapnel. His goggles hid his eyes but his voice was brisk and steady.
“You two the survivors of Flight 328?”
Theo shouted back over the rotor wash. “Yeah!”
“Any injuries?”
“Nothing life-threatening!”
The rescuer gave a quick nod, then motioned to Skye. “You first.”
Theo’s grip tightened fractionally, but Skye shook her head.
“No. You go.”
Theo met her eyes—a flash of protest—but then he understood. If the ladder failed, if something happened, she wanted him up there first. He hesitated only a second before giving her hand a squeeze and stepping forward.
The rescuer clipped a harness to Theo’s waist.
The wind tore Theo’s hood back, sending his dark hair flying. He gave Skye one last look before climbing, each movement deliberate against the raging gusts.
It felt like an eternity before he vanished into the belly of the helicopter.
The rescuer turned to her. “Your turn.”
Skye’s legs shook as she stepped into the harness.
The rope jerked as they began to rise, the ground falling away in dizzying rushes of white and shadow. She clung to the rope until her knuckles went numb, eyes locked on the yawning door above.
Hands reached down—Theo’s hands.
He caught her beneath the arms and hauled her inside.
The warmth of the cabin hit her like a physical blow.
He held on a second too long before letting go.
The cabin smelled of fuel and metal and something faintly antiseptic. A medic wrapped a thermal blanket around Skye’s shoulders, but her focus stayed on Theo across the narrow space.
His hair was plastered with ice, his face streaked with soot and snow, but his eyes—dark, alive—found hers instantly.
“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.
She managed a shaky nod. “Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.”
A beat of silence. “We’re really out of there.”
The words felt fragile, unreal.
Skye exhaled a laugh that cracked halfway through and turned into a sob. Theo reached across the gap, covering her trembling hands with his.
“They’ve got us,” he said softly. “It’s over.”
But it wasn’t over.
Not really.
Because as the helicopter banked toward civilization, the weight of after settled between them—a new kind of wilderness neither of them knew how to navigate.
They landed at a small regional hospital two hours later.
The rush of lights, voices, and heat was overwhelming after days of nothing but forest and sky. Paramedics guided them down the tarmac, doctors shouting questions Skye barely heard.
“How long were you exposed?”
“Any frostbite?”
“Do you remember the crash?”
Theo answered mechanically, but his hand kept brushing hers like a lifeline. Every time someone tried to separate them—different gurneys, different triage stations—his gaze snapped to hers until she nodded, assuring him she was okay.
Inside the ER, warm air prickled against her skin like fire.
Nurses removed layers of frozen clothing, checked vitals, wrapped heated blankets around her shoulders. She kept expecting the panic to ease, but each blast of sterile light only made her feel more untethered.
When the doctors finally cleared them for observation, they were wheeled into adjacent beds divided by a thin curtain.
For the first time since the crash, they weren’t touching.
Hours passed. Nurses came and went. Someone offered food. Skye nibbled at crackers but tasted nothing. Through the curtain she heard Theo speaking—low, steady—to an unseen nurse. His voice was a tether in the chaos.
When the bustle finally ebbed, he appeared at her bedside, still wrapped in a hospital blanket. His hair was damp from a quick scrub. He looked…human again. Too human, like the wilderness might dissolve if she blinked.
“You okay?” he asked again, softer this time.
Skye nodded, then shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Theo hesitated, then pulled a chair close. “Me neither.”
Silence stretched. The hum of fluorescent lights replaced the wind’s howl. Civilization was supposed to feel safe, but instead it felt strangely wrong—too bright, too loud, too full of people who would never understand what it meant to freeze under endless sky.
Skye met his eyes. “It feels weird to be…back.”
Theo leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Yeah. Like we left something out there. Or it left something in us.”
Her chest tightened. “Do you think it goes away?”
His gaze held hers, steady and warm. “I hope not.”
A beat.
Then, softer: “I don’t want to lose this. Us.”
Skye’s breath caught.
The hospital, the crash, the storm—everything narrowed to the space between them.
“Theo…” she whispered.
He reached for her hand, tentative but sure.
Warm. Alive. Real.
Outside, a world of doctors, reporters, and family members waited. But in that quiet slice of fluorescent light, they were still the only two people who knew what the sky between them had felt like—endless, lethal, and somehow beautiful.
And neither of them was ready to let it go.
The cameras were waiting when they wheeled them out.
Flashbulbs exploded against the dark night like miniature flares, bright enough to make Skye’s eyes water. Reporters pressed against the hospital barricade, voices overlapping in a frenzy of questions.
“Skye, Theo—how did you survive?”
“Were you injured in the crash?”
“Were you aware the pilot—?”
The noise slammed into Skye like a physical force. After days of silence broken only by wind and heartbeat, the sound felt alien, almost violent.
Theo shifted closer, his shoulder brushing hers.
“Don’t answer,” he murmured. “Just keep walking.”
They moved as one through the flashing gauntlet, guided by a hospital security team. Their families waited at the end of the corridor of lights, faces pale and streaked with tears.
Skye barely had time to register her mother before she was wrapped in a crushing embrace.
“Oh God, baby,” her mom sobbed. “I thought—I thought—”
The words dissolved into shaking. Skye clung to her, half comforted, half suffocated.
Over her mother’s shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Theo being pulled into a similar embrace by his father. He looked dazed, almost startled, like a man waking from a dream. When his eyes met hers across the chaos, something inside her steadied.
We’re still here.
The first few days blurred into a cycle of interviews, checkups, and endless questions from officials. Everyone wanted to know the same things: how they survived, how they found food, what they felt when the plane went down.
Skye gave clipped answers. The real story—the fear, the bitter cold, the moments when she’d almost given up—felt too private, too sacred to hand over like a soundbite.
Theo handled the media differently. He spoke clearly, but kept his answers tight, his eyes flicking to Skye whenever a reporter pushed too hard. They had survived together; it felt wrong to unravel that bond for strangers.
When the press finally thinned and the hospital released them, normal life loomed like another kind of wilderness.
Back home, Skye’s room looked exactly as she’d left it: unmade bed, scattered notebooks, a half-finished painting on the desk. It should have felt like safety. Instead, it felt… small.
The silence of the wilderness had been sharp and infinite.
This silence was soft, heavy—like something pressing down.
Her mother hovered, fussing over meals and heated blankets. Friends texted nonstop, their words full of exclamation points and awe. You’re so brave! You’re a miracle!
Skye smiled at the screen, but the messages felt like they belonged to someone else.
Late one night, unable to sleep, she grabbed her phone and typed a single word.
Skye: Hey.
The reply came almost instantly.
Theo: Hey.
Can’t sleep either?
Skye: Not really. Feels weird. Like I’m still out there.
Theo: Same. Want to meet tomorrow?
Her heart jumped.
Skye: Yes.
They met the next afternoon at the small park near the hospital. The air was crisp but mild, the autumn sky a dull silver instead of the brutal Alaskan blue.
Theo stood by the frozen pond, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. He looked different without layers of survival gear—clean hair, city clothes—but his eyes carried the same quiet steadiness she’d clung to in the forest.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Birds chattered in the bare trees. A dog barked in the distance. Normal sounds that felt too loud, too alive.
“It’s loud here,” Skye said finally.
Theo gave a small, knowing smile. “Yeah. And somehow quieter than out there.”
She laughed softly. “Exactly.”
They sat on a bench overlooking the pond.
For a long time they just breathed, side by side, letting the ordinary world swirl around them.
“I keep thinking about the cave,” Skye admitted. “The way the firelight hit the snow. How it felt…safe. Even when it shouldn’t have.”
Theo nodded slowly. “I think about it too. About you.”
Her chest tightened. “Theo…”
He turned to face her fully, eyes searching. “I don’t want to pretend that didn’t happen. What we had out there—it wasn’t just survival.”
The words hung between them, fragile and electric.
Skye swallowed hard. “I don’t want to pretend either.”
Theo’s breath caught. “So…what now?”
She looked at him, at the boy who had held her through freezing nights, who had carried her across ice and fear and silence. The boy who had become home when home felt like a myth.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I don’t want to lose it.”
He reached for her hand—no gloves now, just skin against skin. Warm, steady. Real.
“We won’t,” he said.
As the sun dipped behind the bare trees, their fingers stayed intertwined.
The world around them might never understand the sky they had shared—the endless blue that had nearly killed them, the fierce bond that had kept them alive.
But they didn’t need anyone to understand.
They knew.
And for now, that was enough.
Chapter Ten: Gravity
Skye hadn’t realized how heavy normal life could feel until she tried to carry it again.
Classes. Homework. The endless chatter of classmates who looked at her like a legend in ripped jeans.
They called her the girl who survived the crash, as if she were a headline instead of a heartbeat.
At first, she played along—smiles in the hallway, polite answers to questions she barely heard. But when the noise of everyday life finally dimmed each night, the silence rushed back, sharp and endless.
And in that silence, her mind drifted to Theo.
They met often. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes by accident, drawn to the same quiet corners of their small town: the park bench near the frozen pond, the library’s back stairwell, the convenience store that sold the only decent hot chocolate.
It was different from Alaska.
No howling winds. No snapping branches.
But whenever she was with him, she felt the same grounding pull, like gravity had found a new center.
One chilly afternoon, they walked the edge of the river trail, the world softened by early snowfall. Theo carried a thermos of cocoa, and Skye found herself watching the way his breath turned to clouds in the air.
“I had a nightmare last night,” he said suddenly.
She glanced over. “About the crash?”
“Sort of. More about… after. I woke up back there. Cold. Alone.”
His jaw tightened. “Only this time, you weren’t there.”
Skye slowed. “Theo—”
“I know it’s just a dream,” he said quickly. “But it felt—real. Like if I blink, I’ll wake up and the rescue never happened.”
Her chest ached. She reached for his hand, gloved fingers slipping into his without hesitation. “You’re not alone. We’re both here.”
His shoulders eased, but his eyes stayed dark.
“I keep waiting for it to fade. The cold. The sound of the wind. But it’s like it’s carved into me.”
Skye squeezed his hand. “Maybe it doesn’t fade. Maybe it just…becomes part of who we are.”
Theo gave a small, almost sad smile. “Part of us, huh?”
Her cheeks warmed. “Yeah. Us.”
They reached a quiet stretch of trail where the river widened into a slow, dark current. Snowflakes drifted lazily across the water, dissolving the instant they touched.
Theo stopped and turned toward her, their hands still linked.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Sure.”
“In the cave… when you held on to me, did you—” He broke off, shaking his head as if the words were too heavy. “Did you feel it too? Like… more than survival?”
The question settled between them like a held breath.
Skye’s heart thudded against her ribs.
“Yes,” she said, voice barely a whisper. “I felt it.”
Theo’s eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders melting into something quieter. “I thought maybe I imagined it.”
“You didn’t.”
Snow gathered on his dark lashes. He stepped closer, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against the icy air.
“I don’t want to lose that,” he said. “Even if the world thinks we should just move on.”
Her pulse quickened. “Me neither.”
For a heartbeat, the world was only the hush of falling snow and the small, certain space between them. Then Theo leaned in, slow enough for her to stop him if she wanted.
She didn’t.
His lips brushed hers—soft, tentative, tasting faintly of cocoa and winter. The kiss was nothing like the chaos of the crash or the frantic clinging of survival. It was steady. Real. A promise instead of a plea.
When they finally pulled apart, the snow around them seemed brighter, the air warmer.
Theo rested his forehead against hers. “We survived the wild,” he murmured. “We can survive normal.”
Skye smiled, her breath mingling with his. “Together.”
They walked back to town hand in hand, footprints trailing behind them like a quiet declaration.
Normal life waited ahead—school, family, the thousand small demands of the world.
But as the river whispered under a veil of snow, Skye knew the wilderness had given them something the world couldn’t take: a bond forged in silence, sharpened by cold, and sealed beneath an endless sky.
Chapter Eleven: The World Watching
The first time someone called Theo her boyfriend, Skye almost laughed.
Not because it wasn’t true—if anything, it felt too true—but because the word sounded flimsy next to what they’d endured. Boyfriend was movie tickets and text messages. They had shared firelight and frostbite. They had nearly died.
But the world didn’t have a word for the space between wilderness and love.
So boyfriend would have to do.
Their families noticed first.
Skye’s mom lingered in the kitchen doorway whenever Theo came over, her eyes darting between their joined hands and the mugs of cocoa they pretended to sip casually. She didn’t ask outright, but the question hung in the air like steam: Is this serious?
Theo’s dad was less subtle.
“You two keeping up with schoolwork?” he asked one evening when Theo drove Skye home.
Theo gave a steady, infuriatingly calm nod. “Yes, sir.”
Skye hid a smile behind her scarf.
It wasn’t disapproval—it was curiosity, a careful watchfulness. The kind adults wear when they know something rare is forming and they don’t want to break it.
School was another story.
Word had spread before they even returned to class. The crash survivors. The miracle teens. By the time they walked through the double doors together, whispers followed them down every hallway.
“That’s them.”
“They were alone for days.”
“Do you think they… you know…?”
Skye felt the weight of every stare.
She used to fade into the background, but now she was the headline no one could stop reading.
At lunch, a cluster of juniors cornered her with questions—half awe, half gossip.
“Was it romantic?” one girl blurted. “Like, survival bonding?”
Skye’s face heated. “It was… complicated.”
Theo appeared at her side like a silent rescue, his presence scattering the group. When they sat down, he leaned close, voice low enough only she could hear.
“Complicated’s a good answer.”
That night, Skye found herself scrolling through news articles again. Survivors of Flight 328 Speak Out. Teen Pair Beats Impossible Odds. Each headline felt like a theft, strangers carving their story into neat, consumable pieces.
Her phone buzzed.
Theo: Can’t sleep.
Want to walk?
Ten minutes later, she slipped out the back door, her breath fogging the cold night. Theo waited by the curb, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets.
They didn’t speak as they walked. The quiet streets glowed under streetlights, a pale imitation of the endless Alaskan sky. But after a few blocks, Theo stopped and turned to her.
“Does it ever feel like…” He exhaled, searching for words. “Like they all know about it, but no one actually knows?”
Skye met his eyes. “All the time.”
“They keep calling it a miracle,” he said. “But it wasn’t just luck. We—” His voice caught. “We fought for every breath out there.”
Skye reached for his hand, no gloves now, just skin against skin. “We’re the only ones who understand. And we don’t have to explain it to anyone.”
Theo’s shoulders loosened, the tension draining as he threaded his fingers through hers.
They ended up at the park bench near the frozen pond, their familiar refuge. Above them, the stars stretched across the winter sky—not as vast as Alaska’s, but still endless enough to quiet the noise.
Theo tilted his head back, studying the constellations. “Sometimes I miss it,” he admitted. “The silence. The way it felt like the whole world had narrowed down to just…us.”
Skye leaned against his shoulder. “I miss it too. But I don’t want to go back.”
“Me neither.” He paused, then added softly, “I just don’t want to lose what we found.”
She turned to face him. “We won’t. Not if we keep choosing it.”
Theo looked at her for a long, quiet moment. Then he cupped her face in his chilled hands and kissed her—slow, certain, a promise against the cold.
The world might watch.
The world might talk.
But here, under the quiet winter sky, they were still the two people who had survived the impossible.
And survival, Skye thought, was only the beginning.
Chapter Twelve: The Sky Ahead
Spring crept in quietly, almost shy.
The icy edges of winter softened into damp earth and shy shoots of green. The river that had frozen silent for months began to move again, a slow, restless current carrying the memory of snow.
For Skye, the change felt both sudden and inevitable.
The crash was six months behind her now.
The world insisted on moving forward, even when parts of her still lived in a white wilderness.
She and Theo met most weekends. Sometimes at the park, sometimes at the little diner near the river, where the owner always slid them extra pie like they were still fragile. But fragility wasn’t what Skye felt anymore.
If anything, she felt sharper. Clearer. Alive.
One breezy afternoon, they hiked a hill outside town where the first wildflowers struggled through the thaw. The air smelled of pine and damp soil.
Theo carried a small pack with water and snacks, though the weight seemed laughable compared to the emergency kit that had once been their lifeline.
When they reached the summit, they stood side by side, looking out over the valley. Below them, the town sprawled in soft shades of green and gray. Above, the sky stretched wide and unbroken.
Skye exhaled. “It looks… smaller from up here.”
Theo glanced sideways. “The town or the world?”
“Both.”
He smiled faintly. “Maybe because we’ve seen bigger.”
A gust of wind lifted her hair, carrying with it the scent of melting snow. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the air fill her lungs. It wasn’t the sharp, biting cold of Alaska, but it held the same quiet promise: You’re alive. Keep moving.
They sat on a flat rock, sharing a water bottle.
For a while, they just listened to the wind.
“You ever think about the crash?” Theo asked finally.
“Every day,” Skye said. “But it’s different now. Less like…fear. More like a story my body still remembers.”
Theo nodded, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. “Sometimes I miss it. Not the pain. Just… the clarity. Out there, every decision mattered. Every heartbeat was a victory.”
Skye leaned her shoulder against his. “We don’t need a wilderness to matter.”
He looked at her, eyes steady. “We just need each other.”
Her chest tightened. “We survived because we had each other.”
“And we keep surviving,” Theo said softly, “because we still do.”
They fell into an easy silence, broken only by the rustle of new leaves. Skye thought of the girl she’d been before the crash—the one who believed the world was solid and safe. That girl was gone, but she didn’t mourn her.
The one who remained understood how fragile life was.
How precious.
How quickly everything could change.
Theo reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. Warmth spread through her like sunlight.
“Whatever comes next,” he said, “we face it together.”
Skye turned her palm to meet his, gripping tight. “Always.”
The sun began to dip, streaking the sky in gold and rose.
From this height, the horizon felt limitless—like the same endless expanse they had once feared and loved in equal measure.
Skye tilted her head back, staring at the wide, forgiving blue.
It was the same sky that had nearly taken them, the same sky that had held them alive.
But now, it no longer felt like a threat.
It felt like a beginning.
Epilogue
Weeks later, a late-spring storm rolled across the valley. Skye and Theo watched from the diner window, rain streaking the glass. They weren’t talking about the crash. They didn’t need to.
Outside, the clouds parted just enough for a sliver of brilliant sky to break through.
Theo squeezed her hand beneath the table.
Skye smiled, heart steady.
They had lived through the impossible.
Now came the beautiful work of living.
Under the same sky that once nearly destroyed them, they were finally free to dream.
✨ The End