He Forced Me to Kowtow 10,000 Times on the Snowy Mountain Chapter 05

He Forced Me to Kowtow 10,000 Times on the Snowy Mountain Chapter 05

That was when an elderly voice cut through the fluttering prayer flags.

“She never owed either of you anything.”

The mountain chaplain stepped toward Hale, twisting a frayed hand-tied paracord bracelet between his fingers.

“Mr. Thorne, she’s the one who dragged you out of that snow pit three years ago.”

He turned his gaze toward Liora.

“As for why Miss Cross’s leg turned necrotic…”

Liora’s face drained pale, inch by inch.

I woke to the roar of an off-road vehicle’s engine.

The urn was still pressed tight in my arms. Its crack had split wider, wrapped round and round in

gauze like bandages bound around a corpse.

Soren sat in the driver’s seat, his tone heavy and quiet.

“You got lucky. The drop below was a snow embankment, not a sheer cliff. I spotted you tumbling down when I finished my mountain patrol.”

I stared down at the urn cradled against my chest. Only half the ashes remained, mixed through

with snow and grit.

I’d never get all of Rian back.

The camp’s distant fire glow shrank smaller and smaller outside the windows.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, I watched Hale stumble down the snow slope behind us, held back hard by several men.

He clutched that same frayed paracord bracelet in one fist-like he’d finally grabbed something to

cling to, but held nothing at all.

Soren didn’t push me to spill everything that had happened. He just cranked the vehicle’s heater all the way up, then dug a thick military blanket out of the storage compartment and handed it over.

“We’ll clean up those knee wounds once we get back to the station.”

I nodded.

The wilderness rescue station sat on the edge of a tiny village at the mountain’s foot-three metal

prefab sheds stacked full of medical supplies and rescue equipment. Mountain wind whistled through the door cracks, but at least there was a propane space heater running.

Soren guided me onto the exam table and cut my pant leg open with scissors.

My knees were swollen badly, every old wound split open, two spots already oozing infected pus

I didn’t make a sound while he cleaned the lacerations. I’d endured far worse pain over these three

years of nonstop prostrations.

Antiseptic-soaked gauze was pressed firm against my injuries. I dropped my head, only then realizing I wasn’t wearing my own shell jacket.

It hit me all at once.

My jacket had been left back at camp, draped under Liora’s wheelchair. The coat slung over my

shoulders belonged to Soren.

“My shell jacket…”

“That one’s ruined. We’ll sort it out later.”

“No.” I braced my hands on the exam table, ready to stand.

Soren pressed a firm hand to my shoulder to hold me still.

“Rynne, your knees are infected, you’re running a fever of one hundred point seven, your palms are cracked raw from frostbite, and you’re dangerously low on blood sugar. If you collapse now, who’s going to look after Rian’s ashes?”

I sank back onto the table.

He was right.

I couldn’t break down. Not yet.

That night, my fever spiked high.

Half-delirious, I felt a cool damp cloth brush my forehead. I thought it was Rian.

Every time I’d fallen sick growing up, he’d skip school to rush home and sit by my bed swapping out cool cloths. His movements were clumsy, he’d always drip water down my neck, then mumble

apologies while dabbed it off.

“Rian…”

“It’s me, Soren. Rest easy.”

I shut my eyes, warm liquid sliding down my cheeks. It wasn’t crying. The fever burned too hot for my eyes to hold back the tears.

By the next morning, my fever had broken.

Stacks of unopened gear boxes lined the station entrance. All brand-new shell jackets, every shade and size imaginable, tagged with high-end outdoor brand logos.

Soren leaned against the doorframe, jerking his chin toward the pile outside. “He’s been standing

out there since sunrise.”

I stepped outside.

Hale stood on the gravel path, his trench coat buttoned all the way to the collar, his jaw tight with tension. When he spotted me, his eyes swept first over the gauze wrapped around my knees, then locked onto Soren’s coat hanging off my frame.

His lips pressed thin.

“That one’s ruined. Take a new one.” He nodded toward the stacks of jackets.

“I don’t need it.”

“It freezes out here on the range. You can’t keep wearing damp clothes.”

“I know how cold it gets.”

His expression stiffened for a split second.

“I’ve known everything, these past three years.”

Wind howled up the valley, whipping the plastic wrapping on the gear boxes into a loud rustle.

He parted his lips to speak, then clamped them shut again without a word.

Soren stepped out carrying my old shell jacket. It had been washed clean, but tire tread marks still

stained the fabric, a smudge of mud lingering over the pocket.

“Can I borrow some thread and a needle?” I turned to Soren. “I need to mend this seam right here.”

I pointed to the stitched line across the jacket’s chest-the spot Rian had sewn himself, its threads frayed and dissolved by melting snow.

Hale glanced from the tattered old jacket in my arms to the untouched pile of brand-new jackets by

the door.

“Rynne, I only wanted to make things easier for you.”

I hugged the worn shell jacket tight to my chest.

“This one doesn’t hold warmth just because it’s expensive.”

He fell silent, no retort left to give.