She dragged in snow, heated it, fed the dogs their kibble mash, then rolled out her sleeping bag onto a mat. She could have set up her tent, but she feared the orange fabric would alert the poachers. Maybe she was overreacting, but . . .

Okay, she was scared. The kind of scared that bore through her and knotted her insides, and frankly, she just needed . . .

Dodge. Shoot, yes, she needed Dodge.

She should have waited for him.

Stop. She was going to be just fine. She pulled up her legs in her sleeping bag, the smell of wildlife and wet granite around her, the dogs starting to warm the space with their body heat. She had turned on her headlamp, but now flicked it off.

The sound of occasional snoring and her own breathing filled the space.

Alone.

She breathed out. Just calm down. She was fine. No one was going to—

Outside a crunch sounded on the snow. Another. Then limbs breaking.

Granite had shoved in next to her, and now he lifted his head. She touched it, finding the hair on the ruff of his neck raised.

More branches breaking, then a huff.

Probably it was a wolverine. Or a wolf.

Or even a bear.

She reached for her spray.

Then, boots scuffed on the granite, and light sprayed against the cave walls.

She’d brought her capture gun inside and now grabbed it. She flicked on her light and aimed it at the door. “I’m armed. Stay back!”

The light shone on her—bright, blinding. She drew in a breath. “Stop!”

“Don’t shoot, Echo! It’s me!”

She stilled as her intruder’s form emerged, crawling from the entrance. Snow crusted his hat, he had whitened eyelashes and wore a green hunter’s jacket, the kind he used to stay concealed for hours as he studied wildlife— “Dad?”

He rose on his knees, his bivouac bag in his hand, his headlamp shining on her dogs, now awake, some on their feet, barking.

He looked tired, a grizzle of whiskers along his chin, his scarf edged with ice. But his eyes—they pinned her with such a look of worry, she couldn’t breathe. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “What—how—”

“I thought you’d be here.” He groaned as he crawled farther inside. “I was there on the ridge. I arrived just after you did, I think. I saw you on your sled, in the river.”

“You saw what they did to Elsa?”

“Just the end of it. I had gone to her den, tracked her back to the riverbed.”

“I tranqed her.”

“I know. And I shot out the tire on one of the poachers’ ATVs.”

“That was you!”

He nudged one of the dogs aside and flopped down, breathing hard as he pulled off his mittens. “I missed.”

“Dad.”