Chapter 8 On the third day of the special training, according to plan, we were to lead the team on a 5,000-meter altitude acclimatization climb. Before we set out, I conducted a final check of the team's gear. Everett stood to the side, his gaze repeatedly drifting to my fingers, which were raw and red from the cold. "Take these." He suddenly handed me a pair of thick wool gloves, still warm from his hands. "This sector is prone to afternoon whiteouts. Don't be stubborn." I glanced at the gloves, then at the worn-out pair on his own hands, and didn't take them. "With all due respect, Mr. Vance, I am the lead instructor. I am quite capable of selecting my own equipment." I turned and called for the team to move out, leaving his outstretched hand hanging in the icy wind. The mountain at dawn was profoundly silent, a stillness broken only by the rhythmic crunch of crampons on hard-packed snow. I walked at the front, probing the path with my ice axe, each step deliberate. This stretch hid deep crevasses; last year two climbers vanished here. Everett followed two meters behind me, silent now, but deliberately slowing his pace to keep the formation tighter. At two in the afternoon, the sky darkened abruptly. A roaring wind whipped up ice particles, and visibility dropped to less than five meters. I immediately raised a fist, the universal signal to halt. "Tight formation! Deploy the emergency windbreak now!" But before we could unfold the tents, a stronger gust struck. The snow beneath my feet collapsed. A hidden crevasse. In that weightless instant, I drove my ice axe hard into the ice wall. The rope snapped taut, biting painfully into my wrists. "Serena!" Everett's roar cut through the screaming wind. I looked up to see him prone at the crevasse lip, arm outstretched toward me-even as the snow beneath him started to fracture. "Stay back!" I yelled, my voice straining against the gale. "Secure a line to an ice screw first!" But he didn't listen. Instead, he unclipped his own safety rope, tied one end to his waist, and threw the other toward me. "Grab it!" Chapter 8 80.00% But the edge ice was too brittle. His foot slipped-he toppled toward me. A wrenching force yanked my wrist, and in the next second, Everett's body slammed into mine. We slid down several meters together before he suddenly used all his strength to push me upward, his own body slamming into the rock wall inside the crevasse. He grunted, head lolling to one side, motionless. "Everett!" My heart seized. I pressed my fingers to his neck, feeling for a pulse-it was thready, but there. Gritting my teeth, I began carving a precarious staircase of footholds into the ice with my axe. I hauled his arm across my shoulders and started the agonizing ascent, dragging his dead weight up the wall. The blizzard raged harder, draining my strength. Every step felt like walking on knife points. But looking at his bloodless face, I didn't dare stop. At this altitude, if he stayed unconscious too long, he might never wake again. I didn't know how long I climbed before spotting a shallow cave ahead. Summoning the last of my strength, I dragged Everett inside and blocked the entrance with snow to keep out the wind. It was slightly warmer than outside. I lit the emergency lamp and finally saw the gash on his temple, the blood frozen into shards of ice. I got the first-aid kit out and began the methodical, careful work of cleaning his wound. As I disinfected it, his eyelashes fluttered. He slowly opened his eyes. "Water..." His voice was hoarse, his gaze unfocused. I quickly unscrewed my thermos and brought warm water to his lips. He drank a few sips, and some clarity returned to his eyes. He looked at me, a mix of confusion and something more serious. "Serena," His voice was light, as though afraid of shattering the moment. "Back there...I truly thought that was the end." I said nothing, continuing to bandage him, but my fingers trembled. "Do you know..." he murmured, suddenly catching my hand. Chapter 8 80.00% His palm hot, such a sharp contrast to his ice-cold cheek. "After you left, I packed up everything of yours at Pinecrest Estate. Your potted plants, your notebooks, even the scarf you never finished knitting..." I lowered my eyes, unable to meet his. I'd thought he'd thrown everything away. "A part of me always believed you would walk back through that door." His voice grew fainter, laced with a vulnerability I had never heard in him before. "Later I found out what Isabella said was a lie. She told me you'd stopped loving me, that you'd taken the money and left... and I believed her." "I went looking for you, but you'd changed your number, moved house, even switched your mother's hospital." His grip on my hand tightened. "It finally dawned on me how little I truly knew you. That you loved the mountains, lived for adventure...and I kept you caged at Pinecrest for three years. I made you into my shadow." In the glow of the emergency lamp, I saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes. This man who had always been proud and cold, this Major General, now looked like a child who'd done something terribly wrong, defenselessly spilling his heart. "Serena," he said, his gaze holding mine with a startling clarity despite his condition, "I think...no, I know. I began falling for you long before I ever realized it. Years earlier than I dared to admit." I jerked my hand free and turned my face away, unwilling to hear more. Outside, the wind howled. Inside, silence pressed close-broken only by his ragged breathing and the pounding of my own heart. The past I had buried beneath the glacier seemed, at that moment, to stir and ache again. Chapter 8 80.00%%%