“Gory hell, this is miserable,” Dax, Milia’s companion, mutters. I can’t see him in our snow tunnel. Mustang nudges me. We can just barely see Tactus curled into the hollow of Pax’s armpit. The two men snuggle together and wake like lovers, only to flinch away from one another when their ice-crusted eyelids flutter open. “Wonder which is Romeo,” Mustang whispers, her throat raspy. I.”
