The mountains were never silent.
They groaned beneath the wind, stone grinding against stone, snow hissing as it was torn from ledges and hurled into the dark. Soap had learned that on the way up—every step a reminder that this place did not care whether he lived or died.
His leg burned with every movement.
He staggered through the narrow ravine, breath coming in short, fogged bursts, one gloved hand pressed hard against his thigh. The wound wasn’t fatal—not yet—but blood loss and altitude were working together with patient efficiency. Comms were dead. Extraction was impossible. The helicopter pilot’s last words still rang in his ears.
Can’t get lower. Terrain’s too tight. We’ll regroup.
Regroup. Right.
Soap spotted the cave just as his knee threatened to give out entirely. A dark break in the rock face, half-hidden by wind-packed snow and hanging ice. Shelter. That was all he needed—out of the wind, out of sight, somewhere to stop shaking long enough to think.
He dragged himself inside.
The cave swallowed the light almost immediately. Soap switched on his headlamp, the beam cutting across stone walls slick with moisture. It was warmer here—barely—but the difference was enough that his hands stopped trembling quite so violently.
He collapsed against the rock, breathing hard.
Something felt… off.
The air smelled different. Not just damp stone and old snow, but something sharper. Musky. Alive.
Soap’s hand tightened around his lighter.
A sound echoed from deeper in the cave.
Low. Rumbling.
Not the mountain.
Him.
Soap turned slowly, lamp sweeping across the darkness—and froze.
Eyes caught the light first. Pale. Reflective. Too high off the ground to be anything small.
The snow leopard stepped into view with a fluid, terrifying grace.
She was massive, her thick coat mottled in shadow and silver, muscles coiling beneath fur meant for killing cold and prey alike. Her tail lashed once, slow and deliberate. Her lips peeled back, revealing teeth that had never needed to hesitate.
Soap’s pulse roared in his ears.
Mother, his mind supplied instantly. The posture, the way she positioned herself between him and the darkness behind her. The cave wasn’t empty.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t reach for his weapon.
Slowly, carefully, he flicked the lighter.
The flame bloomed small but bright, casting orange light across stone and fur. The leopard hissed, stepping back a pace, ears flattened. Fire—unnatural, dangerous. Enough to make her think. Enough to buy him time.
Soap held it steady, arm shaking despite his best efforts.
“Easy,” he muttered, voice rough, useless to her but grounding for him. “Easy, lass…”
His leg throbbed viciously. Blood seeped into the snow beneath him, dark and warm. He knew she could smell it. Knew that hunger, instinct, and fear were all pressing against each other inside that powerful body.
The cubs whimpered from deeper in the cave.
Soft. Small.
Soap’s jaw tightened.
That’s why she hasn’t charged.
Yet.
The fire wouldn’t last forever. Fuel was limited. His strength even more so. Every second the altitude stole from him made his reactions slower, his vision fuzzier.
And when the flame died—
The leopard took another step forward, testing. Her growl reverberated through the cave walls, a promise and a warning all at once.
Soap braced himself against the stone, lighter clenched tight, eyes locked on hers.
He wasn’t the hunter here.
He was just an injured man in a mother’s den, praying the mountain would show him mercy before instinct won.