Tracker POV

Snow drifts down in lazy swirls, soft and endless. December in Adventure Bay has a way of making even the gray mornings feel magical. The world looks calm again, but inside the school, it's anything but.

Teachers are talking about exam schedules, review sheets, and "staying focused." After everything that's happened, it feels strange to hear normal words again.

I walk through the hallway, boots squeaking against the polished floor. There's a faint scent of hot chocolate from the cafeteria, and the holiday banners flutter slightly in the heat from the vents. A few months ago this same hallway smelled like smoke and fear. Now, it smells like cinnamon and cheap tinsel.

Everyone's trying to move on. I should be too.

But all I can think about is him.

Wild.

He's at his locker when I see him — that streak of snow still melting in his dark hair, laughing at something Mr. Jackson says. Ryder's talking about the upcoming Winter-Safety assembly, clipboard in hand, explaining that the chemistry wing's helping with the science fair displays. Wild nods, grin wide and bright.

The sound of his laugh catches me completely off-guard. It's so normal, so easy. Like he hasn't been carrying the same ghosts the rest of us have.

I could walk over. Say hi. Ask about the assembly. Anything.

But my heart's pounding too fast, and before I can talk myself into it, I've already looked away.

In my head, Coral's voice is laughing at me: "Tracker and Wild before spring. You'll see."
Yeah, right. Spring feels like it's centuries away.

By the time I sit down in first period, I've convinced myself I imagined the whole moment. Except I didn't — because every time I blink, I see that smile again.

When lunch finally hits, I find the group — Chase, Skye, Zuma, Tuck, Ella, Everest, and Coral — all squeezed around a table. The cafeteria's alive again: trays clattering, music leaking from someone's earbuds, the hum of conversations that sound almost normal.

"Exams next week," Skye groans. "I swear if I fail chemistry, Ryder's never letting me live it down."

Chase smirks. "He's too nice to fail anyone this year. He's still being weirdly sympathetic about everything."

"Yeah, probably because the entire school's traumatized," Coral mutters, picking at her sandwich.

I smile faintly, trying to focus, but then Wild walks past our table toward the courtyard doors — and my brain just stops.

Coral catches it instantly. Of course she does. "You're staring again."

"Am not."

"You so are."

Skye raises an eyebrow. "You could just talk to him, you know. Normal people do that."

"Yeah, sure," I mumble. "Maybe in my next life."

Chase laughs. "You'll have to try sometime. He seems nice."

I don't answer. I just keep watching the snow falling outside, where Wild's brushing off one of the benches, headphones in, lost in his own world.

"Maybe tomorrow," I say quietly.

Coral leans back, smirking. "That's what you said yesterday."

I grin, just a little, but the thought lingers long after the bell rings — that maybe tomorrow, I'll finally have the courage to say

The last bell finally rings, and I'm running on pure nerves.
Biology was a blur — Dad tried to teach mitosis, but I caught maybe three words of it. He knew it too. Kept giving me that we'll talk later look while explaining cell division like it was the meaning of life.

Now class is over, and he's in the department office talking with Ryder and a few other teachers about grading deadlines. I'm parked outside, sitting on one of the benches near the lab door, pretending to scroll through my phone while the hallway slowly empties.

It's quiet here — just the buzz of the overhead lights and the faint hum of the vents. After the past few months, quiet still feels strange.

Then I hear footsteps.

"Hey."

I look up so fast my phone almost flies out of my hands.
Wild's standing there — backpack slung over one shoulder, jacket half-zipped, snow still melting in his hair.

"Oh—hey," I say, voice cracking just enough to make me hate myself.

He nods toward the office door. "Waiting for your dad?"

"Yeah. He's... uh, probably lecturing Ryder about safety goggles again."

Wild laughs, leaning against the lockers across from me. "That sounds about right. Mr. Carlos takes bio like it's sacred scripture."

"He does," I say, smiling despite myself. "If you mess up a lab, he acts like you personally offended science."

"That's kind of adorable," Wild teases.

I feel my face heat. "You think yelling about petri dishes is adorable?"

"Hey," he shrugs, grin spreading. "Passion's passion."

My brain stalls somewhere between passion and breathing.

"Anyway," Wild goes on, eyes flicking toward the hallway window, "you going to the winter fair next weekend? Heard they're doing the snow-rescue demo again."

"Uh, maybe," I say. "I mean, probably. Are you?"

"Yeah, Everest's dad roped me into helping at the hill. Guess I'm manual labor now."

I try not to laugh too hard. "You? Shoveling snow? That I've gotta see."

"Then come see it," he says, flashing that lopsided grin that makes my chest ache. "Could use the company."

I open my mouth — no idea what's about to come out — when the office door opens. Dad steps into the hall, still mid-conversation with Ryder.

"There you are," he says. "Ready to head home?"

"Yeah." I glance back at Wild, pulse still hammering. "Guess I'll see you around?"

Wild nods. "Count on it."

I turn to follow my dad down the hall, trying not to grin like an idiot, but I know Coral's going to see right through me the second I get home.

And for once, I don't even care.

Because maybe this time, she was right.

The house is quiet except for the hum of the heater. Dad went to bed an hour ago after grading papers, and the TV downstairs finally went dark.

It's just me now. Me, the sound of the wind outside, and this stupid flutter in my chest that won't stop.

I should be asleep — we're heading up to the ski hill early tomorrow — but my brain won't let me rest. Every time I close my eyes, I see him.
Wild.

The way he looked at me earlier, the casual grin, that easy way he said come see it.
It keeps replaying like some movie scene I can't turn off.

Was that flirting? Or was he just being nice?

I sit up, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. I hate this part — the guessing, the second-guessing. It makes me feel... small.

I've been out long enough that people know who I am. I shouldn't still be scared of this. But liking someone who might not like you back — that's the kind of fear that doesn't go away just because you're honest about yourself.

Maybe he's straight. Maybe he was just friendly. Maybe I'm reading way too much into one stupid smile.

I glance at my phone — Coral's text from earlier still sitting there: "You and Wild. I'm calling it."
Of course she is. Coral sees love everywhere.

But she doesn't get how terrifying it is to hope.

Because what if I'm wrong? What if tomorrow, he barely remembers talking to me? What if I show up and it's just another day for him, and I'm the only one who made it into something more?

My stomach twists just thinking about it.

I whisper his name into the quiet — "Wild."
It sounds ridiculous in the dark. Like saying it out loud might make him appear or maybe make this all make sense.

It doesn't.

I fall back onto my pillow, staring up at the ceiling. The glow from the streetlight catches the frost on my window, scattering it like tiny stars.

Tomorrow's supposed to be fun. Normal.
But all I can think about is one person — and how badly I want to know if he's thinking about me too.

The smell of coffee and toasted bagels drifts up from the kitchen. Dad's already up, humming off-key to some old pop song while packing his thermos.

I pull on my sweater and stare at my reflection for a second.
I look tired. Not the "I stayed up too late" kind of tired — the "I overthought every possible scenario between me and one guy" kind.

I shake my head and grab my hat. "Get it together," I mutter.

By the time we reach the ski hill, the sun's already rising behind the ridge — soft orange light spilling over the snow. The air burns cold in my lungs, the kind that wakes you up fast.

Half the town's here. Families unloading cars, kids dragging sleds, the first hot chocolate stand steaming in the distance.

It feels... good. Normal.

I spot my friends near the lodge. Everest's waving her arms like she's directing traffic while Marshall tries (and fails) to balance a tray of drinks. Skye and Chase are off to the side, arguing playfully about who'll wipe out first. Tuck's sitting on a snowbank with Liberty tucked against his shoulder, the two of them quietly laughing at something Coral's saying.

I walk over, brushing the snow off my gloves. "You all look way too awake for a Saturday."

Coral grins. "Tracker! Thought you bailed on us."

"Didn't sleep," I admit. "Was debating it."

"Please," Everest scoffs. "You wouldn't miss opening day. Not with free cocoa and chaos."

She's right, but that's not why I'm here.

We fall into the easy rhythm that's been missing for months — jokes, snowball threats, Skye daring Marshall to try the steep run again, him immediately refusing. The weight of everything that's happened — the fear, the grief — it's still there, but quieter now, softened by the sound of laughter echoing off the slopes.

For a while, I forget about Wild entirely.

Until I hear a voice behind me.

"Hey, you made it."

I turn.

He's there — red jacket, scarf crooked, snow in his hair like it belongs there. That same smile, easy and warm.

My chest tightens, the air catching for half a second before I find words. "Yeah. Didn't want to miss it."

He nods toward the lift. "You ready to make me look bad out there?"

I laugh, trying not to sound nervous. "You don't need my help for that."

Everest shoots me a look, one of those smug I told you so smiles. I ignore her completely — or try to.

Wild steps closer, boots crunching in the snow. "Come on then. Let's see if you can keep up."

And for once, I don't think too hard about it. I just grab my board and follow him toward the lift — heart pounding, cold air burning, a flicker of something new and terrifying and good rising in my chest.

Wild's hand brushes mine as we grab our boards, just for a second — a spark of warmth against the cold. He doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he does and just doesn't say anything. Either way, it leaves my pulse way too fast for this much snow in the air.

We head toward the lift, boots crunching, boards tucked under our arms. The wind's sharp enough to sting, but it feels good — like it's shaking off the last few months of everything too heavy to name.

Behind me, I can hear Coral whisper something to Everest, her voice pitched just high enough to carry.

"Love's totally in the air."

Everest laughs. "You think everything is love in the air."

"Yeah, but this time," Coral says, "it actually is."

I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling when I do. Of course she'd say that. Coral's convinced everyone's either falling in love or about to — she can't help it.

Wild glances over. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," I say quickly, shaking my head. "Just Coral being Coral."

He grins. "She seems like trouble."

"She is trouble."

The chairlift swings around, and he gestures for me to go first. I sit, careful not to slip, then he drops in beside me. The bar lowers with a soft click, and suddenly the ground is falling away beneath us — the hill stretching out in every direction, white and glittering under the morning sun.

For a while, neither of us talks. Just the quiet hum of the lift, the creak of metal, the sound of our breath.

Then Wild says, softly, "You look less tired today."

I glance at him, caught off guard. "You noticed?"

"Hard not to," he says. "You've been carrying something heavy. You don't have to say what — I just... get it."

The words hit harder than I expect. Maybe because no one's said anything like that in months.

I swallow, nodding once. "Yeah. It's been a year."

He doesn't push. Just lets it hang there, quiet and safe.

And as the lift carries us higher, with the whole mountain opening up below, I realize this — this tiny peace, this simple moment — might be exactly what I've been needing.