Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
And the Arctic Blue butterflies.
They flit around his face, their delicate wings both beautiful and haunting, conjuring memories of Wolf.
“I’ve seen them all over the Brooks Range.” Sirena walks past, as oblivious to our pain as the butterflies. “Does anything look familiar?”
All of it.
None of it.
“Hard to tell.” I scrutinize the area, the bend in the river, the jut of the cliffs, my eyes narrowing as I try to piece together fragments of memories. “Everything looks different in the summer.”
“We need to cover as much ground as possible.” James stands a few feet away, his gaze on the horizon. “Let’s split up but stay within sight of each other.”
“Want to partner up?” Sirena sidles up to Leo. “Two sets of eyes are better than one.”
“Nope.” Leo doesn’t even look up.
She sighs dramatically, turning to me. “What about you, Kody?”
“Same answer.”
With a shrug, she heads downriver with her equipment.
I share a look with Leo.
Don’t turn your back on that one.
He nods and moves deeper into the gorge.
As the delicate wings of the butterflies flutter around me, I can almost see Wolf here, a ghost among the living.
Leo and I hike along the river, side by side, scenting the air and listening to the wind.
The midnight sun blurs the passage of time, its unrelenting light allowing us to push ourselves to the brink.
But as the hours pass and the miles drain the last of our energy, the landscape becomes increasingly unfamiliar. The initial sense of recognition fades, replaced by frustration and exhaustion.
No one has been here. No tracks. No signs of human life. Not in the past year. Maybe not ever.
“This isn’t right.” Leo pauses, tangling a hand in his hair. “None of this feels right.”
I nod, the truth of his words settling in my gut. “This isn’t our gorge.”
James signals for us to regroup and gather our gear. As we make our way back to the plane, I take one last look at the river.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy. But I didn’t expect the first failure to sit so heavily in my chest.
That’s what hope does. It crushes.
We wasted an entire day because of me. Because I picked the wrong fucking gorge.
How many more gorges will we hike? How many more days will we be separated from Frankie?
Too many.
Deep in my bones, I know this will take time, endurance, and patience.
Naturally, my mood is shit. The flight back to Fairbanks sucks, and luckily for Sirena, she has enough self-preservation to stay the fuck away from me.
We sleep in a cabin in Fairbanks, refueling the plane and our spirits, only to start again the next morning.
The search is relentless, and every day brings more of the same. A familiar landmark, hours of hiking, return to Fairbanks, rinse, and repeat.
Each night, we check in with Monty using the satellite equipment. The connection crackles, a lifeline to civilization we never had before. It’s my favorite part of every day.
“Monty.” I adjust the receiver. “Any updates on your end?”
“Nothing new here.” His voice comes through, steady and composed. “Wilson is still narrowing down the suspect list. How’s the search going?”
“Slow.” I glance at Leo, who’s pacing the small cabin. “The terrain is more challenging than we anticipated. But we’re not giving up.”
“Good. Keep pushing. I wish I were with you.”
“How’s she doing?”
“You can ask her yourself. Hang on.” The sound of footsteps on wood flooring scrapes through the connection, followed by the creak of a door. “Frankie?”
A moment later, her soft lilt brushes my ears. “Kody? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. We’re safe. Just checking in.”
Leo grabs the phone, his voice gentler than I’ve heard in days. “Hey, love. How are you holding up?” He listens, nods, and exchanges a glance with me. “We’re doing everything we can. Just stay safe. We love you, too.”
As the call ends, the cabin falls silent.
This feeling in my chest…I don’t know how to process it or what to call it. The throbbing, twisting hollowness of it hits me the hardest at night after hearing Frankie’s voice.
I think I’m homesick. I don’t miss the island or Sitka or any specific place. I miss her.
“I’m ready to go home,” I mutter. “Back to her.”
“I know.” He slumps beside me on the bed. “Me, too.”
The next few days blur into a monotonous cycle of searching and refueling. Each day, we push ourselves further, scouring a new section of the grid under the glare of the endless midnight sun.
Despite our exhaustion, we take time each night to connect with Monty and Frankie before crashing into bone-tired sleep.
As the week draws to a close, our spirits are battered but unbroken.
We have yet to find anything. No trace of Wolf. No hint of Hoss. But the search isn’t over. As long as the sun burns in the sky, we’ll keep looking. For Wolf, for Frankie, for the answers that continue to elude us.