When a sudden whiteout blizzard leaves seasoned tracker Rowan drifted in the heart of the Yukon wilderness, the plan is simple: hunker down, wait for the break, and follow the compass South to the nearest outpost. Rowan knows these woods. She knows the cold. She knows how to survive.
But as the storm rages on for days, turning the world into a featureless void of white, the isolation begins to take its toll.
The silence isn't empty. Shadows move in the periphery of the snowblindness. And the compass, her only tether to reality, begins to behave strangely. The needle locks onto a direction that feels wrong, leading her away from the known trails and deeper into the uncharted frost.
Is it magnetic interference? Is it the onset of hypothermia-induced delirium? Or is something else out there in the ice—something that can pull the needle of a compass to lure prey into a trap?
With her supplies dwindling and her mind fracturing under the weight of the silence, Rowan must decide what to trust: the mechanical certainty of the North, or the terrified instinct screaming that she is walking toward her own grave.
Trust nothing. Not even the North.
