8. Mirrem

8

MIRREM

T he cold had settled into Mirren’s bones, so deep she wondered if it would ever leave. Her fingers were so numb they barely seemed like hers anymore, trembling uncontrollably even though she was wrapped tightly in multiple layers and the remaining thermal blankets. The blizzard screamed outside, battering their fragile shelter, and despite all her training, all her expertise in extreme weather, this was beyond anything for which she had ever before prepared.

She blinked hard, trying to clear her vision, but everything was blurred by exhaustion and the frost building in the corners of her eyes.

Next to her, Sawyer was hunched over, her breaths coming in slow, controlled bursts. Mirren could feel the tension radiating from her, could see the rigid line of her jaw in the dim light filtering through their makeshift tarp. Even in this state, Sawyer was the picture of calm under pressure, but Mirren knew the truth. She knew the cracks were forming, that beneath the tough exterior, Sawyer was just as close to the edge as she was.

Sawyer had helped Mirren to their feet, and the woman resumed trudging through the mounds of snow that grew larger by the second. But exhaustion was wearing her down fast, and the small voice in the back of her head whispered she wouldn’t make it was growing louder by the second.

“Sawyer,” Mirren called out, her voice barely audible over the howling wind. She had to repeat herself, louder this time, until Sawyer turned, her face shadowed by the hood of her jacket.

“What?” Sawyer shouted back, her brows furrowed in concern as she slowed down. “Are you okay?”

Mirren nodded but stepped closer, fighting the wind to close the gap between them. Her chest tightened and her throat constricted, but she wasn’t sure if it was due to the cold or the words she needed to say. It felt so wrong, so selfish to bring this up now, but they could die in the next few hours. Mirren could feel it in her bones—the fragility of life hanging between them like a thin thread.

“I need to tell you something,” she said, her voice trembling.

Sawyer’s green eyes were locked onto hers, sharp and attentive despite their dire situation. “What is it?” she asked, her breath misting in the frigid air.

Mirren hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment crash into her all at once. What if this was it? What if this was their last conversation, the last time she’d ever get to look into Sawyer’s eyes? She couldn’t hold back anymore.

“I—” Mirren’s voice cracked. She took a shaky breath, trying to find the words, but they stuck in her throat. Everything inside her screamed to hold it in, to wait until the storm passed, but what if there was no after ? What if this was their last moment together?

“I care about you, Sawyer. More than just...this mission. More than just survival.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, raw and desperate. She clenched her fists at her sides, her heart pounding. “I can’t—I won’t get through this if I don’t tell you.”

Sawyer stared at her, confusion flickering in her eyes. “Mirren, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I have feelings for you , Sawyer,” Mirren continued, louder now, the adrenaline and fear pushing her forward. Tears threatened to well in her eyes. “And I’ve been terrified to admit it, because…I didn’t know what you’d think. But we’re here now, and I don’t know if we’re going to make it, and I can’t...I can’t die without you knowing that.”

For a moment, Sawyer didn’t respond. She stood there, still and silent, her breath coming in slow, visible clouds in the icy air. The wind whipped around them, harsh and relentless, but in that moment, all Mirren could focus on was the intensity in Sawyer’s gaze.

The silence between them stretched thin, and Mirren’s heart raced, panic surging up her throat. Maybe she had misread everything. Maybe Sawyer didn’t feel the same way, and now she’d ruined whatever chance they had at even just surviving”

“You think I haven’t felt it, too?” Sawyer’s voice was low, the roughness in it softening. “I just didn’t know how to handle it. Not here, not like this.”

Mirren’s breath caught in her chest. “You...you feel the same?”

Sawyer nodded, her expression still guarded but her eyes softened. “I do, Mirren. I’ve felt it for a while now, but I was afraid it would mess everything up. I didn’t want to...complicate things.”

Mirren let out a shaky breath, the tension in her chest loosening, even as the cold continued to press down on them. “We’re already in the middle of a mess, Sawyer. But I’d rather have things complicated with you than face whatever happens next without you knowing how I feel.”

Sawyer’s lips curved into a faint smile—small, but real, even in the face of all their uncertainty. She reached out, wrapping her arms around Mirren in a protective, almost possessive embrace. “We’re going to get through this,” she said softly, her voice a low rumble against Mirren’s ear. “Together.”

Mirren nodded, pressing her forehead against Sawyer’s shoulder. The warmth of Sawyer’s body was a small comfort in the freezing storm, but more than that, it was the emotional connection between them that made her feel safe, even now.

Even with the storm raging on, the world collapsing around them, this moment felt like a fragile victory.

But it wasn’t enough. They still had to survive. And even with their feelings out in the open, the reality of their situation remained—a fight for survival against a raging, merciless storm.

Sawyer’s grip on her tightened, and she pulled away just enough to meet Mirren’s eyes again. “Let’s keep moving. We’re almost there.”

Mirren nodded, swallowing hard as they pulled away from each other. Their confessions hung heavy between them, but there was no time to dwell on it—not when every minute counted. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the outpost ahead, barely visible through the blizzard’s fury.

They moved again, step by painstaking step, battling the wind and snow with every ounce of strength they had left. But even as the storm battered them, Mirren felt a renewed sense of determination—a fire inside her that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was for something more. For Sawyer.

The storm would not take that away from her.

“We don’t have much time,” Sawyer finally said, her voice tight. “We have to keep moving, Mirren. Are you okay? Can you run?”

“Yes,” Mirren replied, swallowing the lump in her throat. She felt weak, pathetic for stopping them, but she pushed those feelings away and replaced them with the newfound determination.

Sawyer met her gaze, and for a second, Mirren saw the vulnerability beneath the strength, the doubt that mirrored her own. But then Sawyer nodded, her expression hardening with resolve.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Let’s go. We move fast. Stay close. Don’t lose sight of me, no matter what.”

Mirren’s heart pounded in her chest, both from fear and a strange surge of relief.

They moved quickly, knowing they had no time to waste. Sawyer continued to lead the way, moving steadily through the deep drifts of snow, her posture rigid with focus. Mirren followed, her feet dragging through the ice. It was disorienting—the world around them reduced to shades of white and gray, with no landmarks, no sign of direction. Just endless snow as far as the eye could see.

But Mirren kept going. She had to. For Sawyer, for herself, for the chance of survival that still lingered, even in this hellish storm.

Her mind drifted as they walked, slipping into the quiet, desperate place that exhaustion creates. She thought about Sawyer—how strong she was, how she always seemed to know what to do. Even now, when everything appeared so hopeless, Sawyer was still fighting. Still leading them forward.

But Mirren had seen the look in her eyes last night, and just now when she’d confessed her feelings. She had seen the fear there, the vulnerability that Sawyer rarely let show. And for the first time, Mirren realized that Sawyer was just as afraid as she was. Afraid of losing. Afraid of not being enough.

The thought sent a pang through her chest, but she pushed it aside. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on emotions. They had to survive first. Everything else could come later—if there was a later.

The wind screamed around them, and Mirren felt her legs beginning to weaken, the cold sapping her energy faster than she could recover. Her body ached, muscles trembling with every step. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep going, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Stopping meant death.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, Sawyer stumbled ahead of her, dropping to one knee in the snow. Mirren’s heart lurched, and she hurried forward, reaching out to steady her.

“Sawyer!” she shouted, but her voice was lost in the roar of the storm.

Sawyer waved her off, struggling to get back to her feet. “I’m fine,” she muttered, though her voice lacked its usual strength.

Mirren wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t argue. She knew the kind of stubbornness Sawyer had, the kind that would keep her moving even when her body was failing. And right now, that stubbornness might be their only hope.

They pressed on, the storm showing no signs of letting up. Mirren’s bones ached worse and worse by the second. Frost coated every inch of their gear, clinging to their hats and thick scarfs and slipping through the cracks of their jackets.

The secondary outpost was still way ahead, but it may as well have been on another planet for how unreachable it felt. Mirren’s limbs were shaking violently now, her vision blurring as the cold worked its way deeper into her body. She stumbled again, her feet catching on something buried beneath the snow, and for a second, she thought she might not get back up.

But then Sawyer was there, grabbing her arm, pulling her to her feet with more strength than she should have had left. “Stay with me,” she said, her voice low but commanding. “We’re almost there.”

Mirren nodded, though she had no idea if it was true. The storm seemed eternal, the cold endless. But she trusted Sawyer. She had to.

As they continued forward, the landscape shifted slightly—a dark shape looming ahead, barely visible through the swirling snow.

Mirren’s heart skipped a beat.

The outpost.

It had to be.