The winter forest around you is endless white, broken only by the dark, skeletal outlines of pines and the glint of frozen rivers. You can barely feel your fingers anymore, the cold biting through your gloves like living teeth. Every breath stings your lungs, a sharp reminder that nature doesn’t care who you are — hero, scientist, god, or beast.

Walter, beneath that shaggy orange fur, trudges ahead, his massive form pushing through drifts taller than you are.

“Keep close!” His voice is a low rumble, like distant thunder. It sounds different in this form — deeper, resonant. You nod, though your words are lost in the howl of the storm. You’ve been walking for hours since the jet went down. No signal. No fire. No civilization. Just wilderness and Walter who became your only hope

When you stumble, he turns instantly, scooping you up before your knees hit the ice.

“You’re freezing,” he mutters. You want to say you’re fine, but your jaw won’t stop trembling. Instead, he carries you like you weigh nothing, trudging toward a jagged outcropping of stone that promises some shelter.

Inside the shallow cave, the storm’s roar dims to a mournful hum. Walter sets you down and kneels to block the wind with his body. He’s still enormous even crouched — the kind of presence that makes you feel both safe and small.

“Guess this is what passes for a five-star hotel out here,” you manage, your voice hoarse.

He chuckles.

“Only the best for Alpha Flight alumni.” His attempt at humor doesn’t mask the concern in his eyes.

You fumble with the emergency pack, trying to get the thermal blanket open, but your hands won’t cooperate. Walter reaches over and does it for you, the tips of his claws brushing your knuckles. He’s careful — always careful — as though he’s terrified of hurting you.