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That earns me a soft laugh.

I pull back onto the road, the wipers still fighting a losing battle against the rain.

The storm shows no sign of letting up as we climb higher into the mountains. Wind howls down off the ridge, rattling the truck hard enough that she grips the door handle every time a gust hits broadside. I don’t slow down more than I have to. I just drive.

The road narrows as we climb, pavement giving way to gravel that’s already washing out in places. The headlights catch nothing but rain and dark tree trunks pressing in close on both sides.

She straightens, pointing ahead through the windshield. “That’s it. Right up there, past the bend.”

I ease off the gas.

The place comes into view through the rain. Something in my chest goes cold before my mind’s even caught up to why.

I know this place.

I know the porch, the shutters I bolted myself, the exact spot where the gravel drive dips before it levels out again. I know this cabin because I carried Raven over the threshold the day we were married. Because I buried a version of myself here the day I finally left it behind.

I don’t let any of that reach my face.

“Here?” I ask, voice careful and even.

“Here.” She’s already reaching for the door handle, oblivious.

I put the truck in park, jaw locked, hands steady on the wheel through sheer force of will.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” she says. “But thank you.”

“I couldn’t leave you out there alone.”

“Do you have a card or something? For the garage?”

“Name’s Wolf,” I offer. “The scooter will be at Blackwater Garage. Anybody in town can point you my way.”

Something flickers across her face, there and gone again before I can read it.

“Is Wolf a road name?” she asks.

“Something like that.”

“I’m Astra, by the way.”

“Astra.” I test it out on my tongue, nodding once, anything to keep me from looking at the cabin outside the window.

She starts to shrug out of my shirt. I stop her with a shake of my head.

“Keep it. Until you get the scooter back.”

Her eyes linger on mine a beat too long, like she’s not used to someone insisting on her safety. Then she nods, pulling it tighter around herself.

“You’re sure I’ll actually get it back?”

I huff something close to a laugh. “What would I do with a pink scooter?”

Her mouth curves, small. “Stranger things have happened.”

“I’ll take a look at it tomorrow,” I say. “Hopefully it won’t take long to get it running.”

“How much do I owe you?”