52. Northern Cold I

Aella

I can still feel the pulsing vibration of the jet’s engines as Roman and I disembark, the plane’s hushed whir still lodged in my ears. The Northern Territory is brutal, with winds that slice through your clothes, rattling your very bones.

Tall pines and firs stretch skywards like an army of ancient warriors standing sentinel. Despite the frigid beauty, a sense of foreboding tightens the air—something is terribly wrong here.

Roman looks tense. Even from my peripheral vision, I can see the cords of his neck straining, and his jaw clenched in an almost animalistic way. He’s been on the phone the entire flight—speaking in Russian and what sounded like Romanian, conversations laced with urgency and dark premonitions.

The playful, flirty Alpha from hours ago has morphed into someone more somber, more distant.

We take a black SUV from the airstrip, driving through a web of unmarked roads until we reach the first crime scene. As Roman steps out, I follow suit, bracing myself against th