Chapter 40: A Path Through the Snow.

  A few days after Sarah's funeral, the quiet isolation of their cabin on the outskirts of Green Arbor offered Talon little escape from his grief. Snow continued to fall, a relentless blanket over the world, as if nature was determined to smother the raw emotions that lingered beneath the surface. Ava had been watching him closely, recognizing the same darkness that had consumed her after Ethan’s death—the weight of loss that seemed impossible to lift. This morning, she decided, was the time to reach out, to guide him through the fog of despair before it consumed him entirely.

  She found Talon on the porch, his figure hunched and still, etched against the bleak backdrop of falling snow. His breath, visible in the cold, rose in slow, measured exhalations. Ava sat beside him without a word, letting the silence settle between them like a familiar companion. She handed him a steaming mug of coffee, the warmth cutting through the chill.

  "Talon, you need to eat something," Ava said gently, breaking the quiet. "Jess made some stew. It might help warm you up."

  Talon took the mug, his fingers stiff and shaking slightly from the cold. "Thanks, Ava," he muttered, his voice low and hollow, like an echo of the man he once was.

  Ava waited, choosing her words with care. "It’s okay to feel this, Talon. To grieve. Sarah wouldn’t want you to face this alone."

  Talon stared out into the snow, his gaze unfocused. "How do you get past losing someone who became part of who you are?" His voice cracked, the weight of his sorrow hanging heavily on each word.

  "You don’t get past it," Ava said softly, her eyes fixed on the falling snow. "You carry them with you. Their memory becomes part of your strength, part of why you keep moving forward."

  Talon was silent for a long moment, the steam from his mug swirling in the cold air. "We’ve been to so many funeral fires, haven’t we? But there’s only a handful that really stays with you."

  "Yeah," Ava agreed, her voice touched with the bittersweet memories of loss. "Before this one... there was Ren and Ethan."

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  Talon’s faint smile was bittersweet. "Ren's funeral was so sad," Ava continued, her tone soft with nostalgia. "We got to meet his family. They traveled for days just to be there. They were the nicest people, weren't they?"

  Talon nodded, a faraway look settling in his gaze. "I remember Ethan’s... Drayton handed you the torch, and I could see how heavy it looked in your hand. I never understood how that torch could weigh so much until I had to do it myself."

  Ava nodded, her heart aching with the memory. "Ethan meant everything to me. Losing him... it felt like the world shattered. That torch was more than just a flame; it was the weight of everything he’d given me, everything he was."

  Talon's voice was rough, the words heavy. "I get it now, Ava. I didn’t understand it then, but now I do. That weight doesn’t leave you, does it?"

  "No," Ava replied softly, her gaze fixed on the snow, watching it pile higher and higher. "It doesn’t. But it doesn’t have to destroy you either."

  Talon looked down, the pain etched on his face. "You threw yourself into every mission after Ethan died... into every fight. I saw you... I didn’t understand why until now."

  Ava’s eyes softened as she nodded, her voice steady. "I thought if I fought hard enough, if I faced enough danger, the pain would go away. But it doesn't. That’s not the way to heal. Fighting only delays it. The only way forward is through it, Talon."

  A silence followed, heavy but necessary, as Talon absorbed her words.

  The conversation shifted, lighter but no less meaningful. "Jess mentioned that the community is pulling together to finish the medical center," Ava said. "It was Sarah’s project, her dream. Helping there might be a good way for you to start healing."

  "Yeah," Talon replied, a spark of resolve lighting his eyes. "That sounds like something worth doing. A way to keep a part of her alive."

  "And you won’t be alone," Ava added, squeezing his hand. "We'll all be there, every step of the way."

  "Thanks, Ava. For everything," he said, taking a deep breath of the cold air. "Maybe after the center is up and running, I might start to feel more like myself."

  "You will," Ava assured him, smiling. "And I’ll be here, annoying you every step of the way."

  Talon chuckled, the sound more heartfelt than she'd heard in days. "Wouldn’t have it any other way, Blondie."

  As they sat together, watching the snow gently cover the world in white, Ava felt a bond reaffirm itself, the kind forged in the fires of shared trials and mutual support. Here, in this moment, they were reminded that even after the deepest snows, spring would eventually come.

  The grief wouldn’t disappear overnight. The pain wouldn’t vanish. But together, they would learn to carry it, to live with it, and to keep moving forward.