Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 35133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
I open the door and step out into the cold, the night pressing in immediately, thick and dark, the trees forming a wall just beyond the clearing. Maddie follows close behind, and I feel her before I hear her, the shift in the air, the warmth at my back.
“Stay close,” I murmur.
“Not too close,” she shoots back, but her voice is quieter now.
Good.
We move slowly, our steps careful against the ground as I track the edges of the clearing first, scanning for anything out of place. The wind has died, and that makes it worse. Every small sound stands out sharper, every shift carrying more weight.
A sound to the left.
I go still.
Maddie bumps into me, softer this time, her hand brushing my back to steady herself.
“What?” she whispers.
I don’t answer, just tilt my head slightly, listening.
There it is again.
A branch creaking under weight.
Not the wind.
Too controlled.
I move forward, slow and deliberate, each step placed with intention. Maddie stays close now, not arguing, her breathing just behind me.
We reach the tree line, and everything changes. The darkness thickens, swallowing what little light the cabin gave us. I lift a hand slightly, signaling her to stop.
She does.
I step forward alone, slipping between the trees, scanning, tracking.
And then I see him.
A shadow where there should not be one. A shift of movement just beyond the brush.
He is watching.
Closer than I thought he would risk.
My jaw tightens as I take another step.
A branch snaps behind me.
Loud.
Too loud.
My head turns instantly. “Maddie.”
She’s not where I left her. She’s only a few steps off, but it is enough, her body turned the other way like she heard something different.
“Ethan?” Her voice cuts through the dark, sharp now. “I saw—”
“Don’t move,” I snap.
Too late.
Something shifts to her right, fast and close.
She turns.
And for a split second, she sees him.
I see it in her reaction, the way her body locks, the sharp inhale that tears out of her, the way her eyes go wide.
“Oh my God—”
I’m moving before she finishes, closing the distance in two strides, grabbing her and pulling her back against me as I turn, placing myself between her and the trees.
“Inside,” I say, my voice low and controlled.
“Ethan, he—”
“I know.”
I back us up slowly, step by step, my eyes locked on the darkness where he disappeared. He’s gone now, slipped back into the trees like he was never there.
But he was.
And she saw him.
Her hands grip my arms, tight enough to hurt, her breath coming fast against my chest.
“Did you see him?” she asks, her voice breaking. “Did you—”
“Yeah.”
That is all it takes.
The composure she’s been holding onto cracks completely.
Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer like she needs something real to hold onto.
“He was right there,” she says, the words rushing out. “Ethan, he was right there—”
“I know,” I repeat, firmer this time.
I guide her back toward the cabin, keeping the pace steady, controlled. Panic makes mistakes. I will not let her make one.
Her body stays close to mine now, not resisting, not pulling away. If anything, she leans into me harder, her shoulder pressed against my chest, her grip tightening every time something shifts in the dark.
“Don’t let him—” she starts.
“I won’t.” The words come out without hesitation.
We reach the cabin, and I get her inside, shutting the door hard behind us and locking it before I turn back to her.
Her chest rises and falls quickly, her eyes wide, her hands still gripping my shirt.
“He was watching me,” she says, quieter now. “Not just… around me. Me.”
I steady her without thinking, my hand settling at her waist.
“I know.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. “This isn’t random.”
“No.”
“I know him,” she breathes.
The realization hits her hard, and I see the shift in her expression, fear turning into something deeper.
Recognition.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Her grip tightens again, but this time she pulls me closer instead of pushing me away. For the first time since she got here, she’s not fighting me.
Her forehead presses briefly against my chest, her breath uneven.
“I thought I was imagining it,” she murmurs. “Like someone was already there before I even got here.”
“You weren’t.”
“I should have handled this before it got this far.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have,” she insists, pulling back just enough to look at me. “I should have seen it.”
“Stop,” I say.
Her eyes flash. “Don’t tell me to—”
“Stop blaming yourself.”
Silence falls between us, but this time it is different, not as sharp, not as suffocating.
“He’s not getting close again,” I tell her.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
Her lips part like she is about to argue, but she doesn’t.
This time, she believes me.
Or at least she wants to.
Her hands are still on me, her grip loosening slightly but not letting go, and neither of us moves to break it.
“You’re shaking,” I murmur.
“I’m not.”
I tighten my hold at her waist just enough to feel it. “Yes, you are.”