Page 98 of The Heart of Winter

"I don’t know."

"We were at cruising altitude! Winter, it’s impossible that we survived. Absolutely impossible."

I didn’t say anything. What was there to say? He was right.

"So. Where are we?"

"Sariel, I seriously don’t know. I know as much as you do."

"It’s dawn. The last time I checked, we still had more than three hours before landing."

I stayed silent. I knew he was talking to stall—to avoid the pain that was coming.

"Maybe we did die, Winter. Maybe this is the afterlife."

I let out a bitter, humorless laugh.

"I don’t think the afterlife comes with plus-ones, Sariel. Death is a solo journey."

His eyes flickered to mine. "Maybe we’re True Mates, two halves of the same soul. Maybe that’s why we ended up here together."

My chuckle sounded rather dry. "Very funny. But if we somehow survived a seven-mile fall, that alone is already beyond improbable. And right now, we have no way of confirming what actually happened. The only thing we can do is get your leg free." My voice hardened.

Sariel squeezed his eyes shut. "Okay… but how? I’m still sitting in this chair, Winter. I can’t get up with my foot stuck like this."

"I’ll have to tilt the seat back. Let’s see if I can move it, I’m not an alpha."

Judging by how solid the seat looked, and with Sariel still sitting in it, this wasn’t going to be an easy task.

"I’d help you, but, well… not with this leg," Sariel muttered glumly.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I circled around the row of seats.

On Sariel’s side, there was still one more chair attached, empty now. If I remembered correctly, an older omega had been sitting there before… but he was gone. It looked like a full section of the plane had ripped away, leaving behind only these three seats.

Sariel had been in the middle one.

I figured the best way to free his foot was to tilt the seat backward. So that’s exactly what I did. I grabbed the backrest and pulled with all my strength, bracing myself against the ground. Sariel let out a muffled groan, I knew he was fighting through the pain. But a second later, his leg was free.

Only then, did I walk around the seats.

Sariel was deathly pale. His leg was still bent at a grotesquely unnatural angle, but at least it wasn’t trapped anymore.

"Shit, that hurts," he whispered weakly. I could see how hard he was trying not to groan out loud, not to show just how much pain he was in. His lips were almost gray, his jaw clenched tight.

"We have to stabilize it somehow, Sariel."

The fog was still thick, blocking most of the view, but about thirty yards away, I spotted a cluster of stunted trees, their branches bent nearly to the ground, probably from constant wind. I made my way over and, after a brief struggle, managed to snap off a few sturdy branches without tearing up my hands too badly.

When I returned, Sariel was sitting there with a deeply miserable expression. We both knew what was coming next. I’d have to set his leg.

Unfortunately, I had close to zero medical training. I’d taken a basic first-aid course once, but they definitely hadn’t covered this kind of thing. All I could do was hope that his leg was dislocated rather than broken, if it was just a dislocation, maybe it would pop back into place. But that was wishful thinking. There was a very real chance I could make things worse.

Then again, I couldn’t just leave his leg twisted at that angle.

I pulled a pair of wired headphones from my pocket, the ones I used with my phone because I hated Bluetooth earpieces.

With these, plus the sticks, I could at least try to stabilize his leg.

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