The rearview mirror showed nothing but an abyss.

Violette stared until her eyes burned, searching for the light Kylan had mentioned, but found only darkness. Just as she opened her mouth to tell him he must have been seeing things, a flicker caught the corner of her eye. A weak beam of light cut through the rain from the slope above.

"I think that's it!" She straightened up.

"I told you! Someone’s bound to pass by." The car was completely dead—engine unresponsive, windows locked tight. Kylan fumbled with the buttons before realizing they were useless and lunged for the door handle. "Wait, why is it coming from the mountain side? I thought the road had washed out?"

"Hey! Over here!" Kylan shouted into the downpour.

The faint light flared, cutting through the deluge with frantic, searching movements.

Violette pulled Kylan back into his seat and shoved the door open. Cold rain lashed at her skin, soaking her through in seconds and sending a violent shiver down her spine.

That was when the beam hit her square in the face.

She squinted, shielding her eyes against the glare. In the harsh white light, her skin looked translucent, drained of all color. She pressed her lips into a thin, trembling line, fighting to keep her teeth from chattering.

As her eyes adjusted, the light dropped to her feet.

In a split second, a face emerged from the darkness. A face she knew better than her own. Her breath hitched. Before her mind could catch up, that familiar, jagged voice cut through the roar of the rain.

"It really is you." Blake Pierce ground his teeth, his expression icy. "Violette Ellis, you’re something else."

A thousand questions flooded her mind, but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was the most useless one of all.

"What are you doing here?"

"Training."

Blake didn't waste a second. He stripped off his rain poncho and draped it over her head, then swept his flashlight across the car window. Inside, the beam caught the face of a trembling, slight young man.

He pulled the light back. "What’s wrong with the car?"

"I don't know. I’m not a mechanic." Violette regained her composure. "My colleague is hurt. Do you have a vehicle?"

"Yeah. Down at the other end."

The nonchalance in his tone made Violette look instinctively toward the pitch-black wall of rain behind them. That was the site of the landslide; no vehicle from the base could possibly make it up here.

"How did you even get up here?" she asked.

Blake ignored her, pushing her back into the rear seat before sliding into the driver’s side. He turned the key, but the engine only gave a dying sputter. He didn't speak, but the fresh, thick layers of mud caked onto his clothes told the story.

That wasn't just a patch of mud. That was a disaster zone.

Violette felt a surge of frustration. "When will you stop being so reckless?"

"What did you want me to do?" Blake stayed hunched over the dashboard, refusing to look at her, though the corners of his eyes were rimmed with a raw, angry red. "I heard you were trapped on the mountain. What was I supposed to do? Pretend I didn't hear it? Pretend I didn't care?"

"We could have waited for the rain to let up and found a way to the water plant."

"Sure. You’ve always got a plan. I don't. I just have my own way of getting things done."

The tension inside the car was thicker than the storm outside. Kylan, caught in the crossfire, stared straight ahead, pretending to be invisible. He clamped his mouth shut, holding his breath.

Suddenly, Blake looked up, his gaze settling on Kylan. It was cold enough to frost over. "Where are you hurt?"

"Uh… my ankle."

Blake gave a short nod, pulled a small tube of sports-grade muscle rub from his hoodie pocket, and tossed it toward him. "Apply it yourself."

Kylan, having no clue who this man was or why he carried professional sports ointment in a storm, stammered a quiet thank you and went back to being a ghost.

The two of them stopped talking, leaving the cabin filled only with the relentless, drumming rhythm of the rain.

As Blake prepared to step out to check the engine, Violette reached forward and handed him the rain poncho he’d given her. He didn't say a word, just took it, pulled it on, and stepped back out into the deluge.

The flashlight beam danced across the front of the car.

Kylan leaned toward Violette, whispering, "Ms. Ellis, your friend is clearly worried about you. Who else would come up this mountain in this weather? That road is practically gone. It’s suicide."

Violette gave a noncommittal hum.

When the hood slammed shut and Blake returned, the silence returned with him.

"It’s likely the spark plugs, but I can't be sure." Blake pulled the door shut, his dark hair dripping rivulets of water down his face. He glanced at both of them. "What’s the plan for the night?"

"The water plant is about a twenty-minute hike from here," Violette said.

"Fine. I’ll carry him."

Blake’s tone was so flat, so businesslike, that Kylan actually gasped in surprise.

"Something wrong?" Blake snapped. "You think you can walk?"

"..."

Without waiting for an answer, Blake stripped off his rain poncho. It was already soaked through, so he tossed it aside. He reached for his hoodie, pulling it over his head. It was the only dry thing left. He tossed it backward, right over Violette’s head.

The scent of dry, warm fabric enveloped her, instantly shielding her from the biting dampness. For the first time, her lips stopped trembling.

"Keep it on," Blake commanded.

He was down to his thin, quick-dry training gear now, but he didn't hesitate. He stepped back out into the rain.

Getting Kylan on his back took seconds. Blake had the build of a professional athlete; carrying Kylan was no effort. Kylan looked profoundly uncomfortable being carried by another man, but he instinctively held the other rain poncho over their heads as best he could.

Violette didn't waste time with polite protests. She pulled the hoodie tight and wrapped the rain poncho over it.

As she stepped out of the car, the mud and water rose to the platforms of her sneakers. She steadied herself against the car frame, catching Blake’s gaze for a fleeting second.

She waved a hand to signal she was fine. He didn't respond, just gestured with his chin toward the trail.

He wanted her in front.

Violette picked her way through the mud, holding the flashlight Blake had brought. Her shoes were already ruined, the water seeping into her socks, but the hoodie kept her upper body warm. She buried her face into the collar to block the wind.

Every few steps, she’d turn the light back to check on the path behind her, then shine it forward again.

When the light caught his legs, she noticed the jagged, muddy tears in his pants, clearly ripped by rocks or debris in the landslide.

She felt a strange lump in her throat. "Is your club having a training camp up here?"

"Yeah."

He shouted over the thunder of the rain to ensure she heard him.

Kylan remained silent, a mute, umbrella-holding machine.

"How did you even know we were here?" Violette asked after a few steps.

"The people from the station were waiting for you in the lobby. I overheard," Blake said. "There’s only one road up the mountain. I knew I’d find you eventually."

"Oh," she replied, her voice sounding hollow in the storm.

The flashlight beam swung over his feet again.

"Focus the light on your own path," he reminded her. "I can see fine."

Violette had terrible night vision. Back when they were together, she was always tripping in the dark. He would always reach out and grab her hand, turning it into a game. *Turn left forty-five degrees. One step. Two steps. Three. Good. Stop right there.*

Every time he had her stop, she’d find a surprise waiting for her. A bouquet of flowers, a classic novel, a beautiful seashell, a butterfly specimen, or a handwritten poem.

She had received so many strange, wonderful things from him in the dark.

She took a deep breath, moving carefully step by step. With the rain drowning out everything else, she kept talking just to ensure he was still behind her.

"No tournaments lately?"

There was a pause behind her, followed by a sound like a cold, sharp laugh. "So, you really did block me."

Caught red-handed, Violette awkwardly pursed her lips.

The day her phone had pinged with their three-year anniversary notification, she had wiped his existence from her digital life. Everything that could be deleted, was; everything that could be blocked, went silent.

Now, the only trace of him in her contacts was a single phone number.

Just a generic ex-boyfriend. Not someone important enough to keep, but not someone worth the effort of burning the bridge.

Violette kept her mouth shut. Blake’s voice returned to its usual steady cadence.

"The tournament is over," he said. "I brought the trophy home."