Page 24 of Tracking Snow

She blinks. "That sucks. I’m sorry."

I expect the usual barrage of questions. For her to try and dig her fingers into my wound to pry it open. But for whatever reason, she leaves it alone.

Which is good. Because if she had tried to dig any further, I would be out of here like a shot.

"So let me guess." Half her lips tilt in a sly slant. There is a gleam in her eye that I am beginning to recognize and deeply distrust. "You’re the one who has never done anything crazy or wild just for the hell of it."

I stop. "What? We’ve done plenty of..."

"No," she cuts me off with a poke to the chest. "You. One. I mean you. Specifically." She takes one step back, toward the end of the pier, keeping her gaze on mine. "I bet you have never once done something completely stupid just because it sounded fun."

She's not wrong, Two drolly observes, unhelpfully.

"Being stupid isn't fun," I say.

"I bet you’ve noticed the other parts of you know how to have fun. How to throw caution to the wind. Two is a pretty daring dude."

Two pretends not to care. He fails miserably, perking up at the acknowledgment.

Snow sets a hand on her hip, cocking her head to the side. "Also, how would you know being impulsive isn’t fun if you've never tried it?"

Four moves so close to the surface I can feel his grin on my own face, and I actively wrestle it back down.

"I don't need to touch a hot stove to know⁠—"

"Sometimes getting hot is fun." She is still holding my gaze. Still with that gleam. "I mean, you seem to not mind the heat. Aren't you dying in this thing?" She plucks at my sleeve. Then she tips her head, studying me. "Is this one of those things where guys wear shorts and flip-flops in a snowstorm to prove they're not cold? Because you don't have to prove anything to me. You could take it off."

"I run cold," I lie.

"Mm." She steps in. "I still think you should give it a try. Shedding the layer, for science. Thermal regulation. Maybe the pants too."

She's flirting with you, Four says, delighted. She has been this entire time, and you've been answering her like she's asking about the weather, you idiot.

Oh.

Is she daring me to close the distance?

That must be what this is. She's baiting me. Inviting me to cross the remaining space between us and finish what almost happened earlier⁠—

She turns and sprints full tilt off the end of the pier.

For one full second, I stand completely still, watching the place where she was.

The splash reaches me a beat later.

The Atlantic Ocean in July is sixty-seven degrees Fahrenheit, Six points out with an anxious strain. Hypothermia can set in within the hour. She went in fully clothed, which means drag weight, and she is small, and she is human, and she has no magic to regulate her body temperature, and she is in the ocean⁠—

The whole of me is moving before I've consciously made the decision.

I hit an ocean made of icy needles and the cold drives everything else out entirely.

Chapter 8

Hot Tubbing with the Horny One

SNOW

Igasp as I surface, the cold cutting through me like a knife. But it’s the exact invigoration I need.