Page 15 of Rescue in Misty Mountain

Tessa helps me clear the dinner dishes. We don’t talk much. We don’t have to. There’s a quiet rhythm between us already.

After, I tug on a jacket and grab the small med kit I keep stocked for the rescues.

“I have a fox kit in need of a rewrap,” I say. “You wanna come?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Let me grab a sweatshirt.”

A few minutes later, we’re crossing the yard together beneath the rising moon. The old hanging lantern outside the barn casts a warm glow as I push the door open.

Inside, it’s quieter than quiet. Just the low rustle of movement in the pens, a soft chuff from one of the raccoons, and the steady creak of the boards beneath our boots.

The fox is in the back enclosure. He’s one of the younger rescues. Slender, orange-red fur, with a bald patch on his shoulder where a wound is still healing. It’s nothing major. But it needs to be cleaned and rewrapped regularly.

I kneel beside the enclosure and unlock the latch, keeping my voice low and steady as I call the fox over.

Tessa kneels beside me without being asked. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hesitate.

Not when the fox growls softly, not when I lift the leg and peel back the bandage to reveal the wound.

She just watches. And for a second, I don’t see the girl who got stranded in the woods with a loud-mouthed cat.

I see someone who could belong here. Someone who might understand.

Her hands are gentle as she unwinds the bandage and hands it to me. She listens closely as I guide her through it, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin.

We crouch by the pen, our shoulders brushing as she balances the gauze.

“So you really do this alone?" she asks, voice soft.

“Most of the time. Occasionally the kids in town will volunteer to get extra credit at school.”

“Isn’t it hard.”

“It’s necessary.”

“And it doesn’t get lonely?"

“How could I be lonely when I have so many friends? Besides…”

She glances up at me, eyes searching.

“Besides what?”

I shake my head slowly. “Besides, I stopped needing noise to feel complete.”

Her gaze dips to my mouth. Just for a second. My breath stalls.

I should move.

Instead, I reach up and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers brush her cheek. Soft. Warm.

She doesn’t pull away.

My gaze drops to her lips. She rubs them together—a nervous habit, maybe. But it makes them look fuller.

Too close.

Too much.

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