Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 31866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Something in my chest tugs.
I shift my legs under the table. “So Nash called because…”
“He took a job.”
“Oh,” I say, not really understanding. “And that’s bad?”
Crewe’s expression tightens again, like the subject is sensitive. “Yeah.”
“With Maddox Security,” I say, remembering the name.
His jaw works once. “Yes.”
I take a careful breath. “And… something about your dad.”
The cabin goes quieter. Even the wind seems to pause.
Crewe stares at the table for a second, then lifts his eyes to me. “I was seventeen,” he says.
The words come out flat, but his voice has a rough edge now, like he’s dragging the memory up from somewhere he keeps locked.
“We were on the edge of town,” he continues. “Dad had taken the truck out. Said he’d be back before dark.”
He swallows.
“It got late,” he says. “Then it got… wrong. Mack went looking for him. Came back with that look on his face. The one that tells you something changed forever.”
My throat tightens. “What happened?”
Crewe’s fingers curl around his fork like he needs something solid in his hands. “There was an accident,” he says quietly. “That’s what they told us. Down by the river. His truck off the road. But…”
He shakes his head once, sharp. “They never found his body.”
A chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the snow outside.
“They never found him,” I whisper.
Crewe’s eyes flick up, and there’s something raw there. Something young. Something wounded.
“Nash didn’t accept it,” he says. “He enlisted not long after. Said he needed to be somewhere that made sense. Somewhere he could do something.” He exhales, slow. “Then one by one, we all followed. Like we couldn’t breathe in that town anymore. Like the only way to live with the hole was to become something harder.”
My chest aches.
I reach across the table without thinking and lay my hand over his.
His skin is warm. Solid.
He stills, but he doesn’t pull away.
I hold his gaze. “I’m sorry.”
He blinks, once. “Don’t be.”
“I am anyway,” I whisper.
For a moment, it’s just us—the firelight, the safe house, his hand under mine.
And suddenly I understand something about Crewe Hawthorne that has nothing to do with missions or muscle or danger.
He’s not just a protector because he’s trained to be.
He’s a protector because he learned, young, what it feels like to lose someone and never get them back.
I swallow hard. “So Nash called because… he thinks your dad might not be dead.”
Crewe’s jaw tightens. His eyes go distant. “Yeah,” he says. “Maddox Security thinks he’s alive. In trouble.”
“And you believe it?”
He’s silent long enough that my heart stutters.
Then he says, quietly, “I don’t know what I believe. But Nash doesn’t chase ghosts unless there’s something to hold.”
I squeeze his hand gently. “That’s… a lot.”
“It is.”
I take a breath. “Thank you for telling me.”
Crewe’s eyes lift to mine, and for a second the intensity of him settles fully on me—like I’m the only thing in the room.
“Riley,” he says, voice low.
“Yeah?”
His gaze drifts to my mouth. Back to my eyes. Like he’s fighting a war inside his own head. “I don’t like you being involved in any of this,” he admits. “You didn’t ask for it.”
My heart squeezes. “Neither did you.”
His thumb brushes the side of my hand—barely a touch, but it lights up my skin like a spark.
“I’m going to end it,” he says. Not as a promise. As a plan. “Whoever is doing this. Whoever wants your work. Whoever thinks they can touch your life.”
My breath catches. “And Evan?”
The muscle in his jaw jumps. “Especially him.”
There it is again—that possessive edge. That jealousy he’s not trying to hide.
It’s absurd. It’s inconvenient.
It makes my stomach flutter anyway.
I pull my hand back slowly, not because I don’t want him touching me, but because if I let myself sink into this moment too far, I might forget we’re in danger.
“Okay,” I say softly. “So… tomorrow we keep digging.”
Crewe nods. “Tomorrow we keep digging.”
I stand, gather the plates, and move to the sink. My hands are steady, but my thoughts aren’t.
Behind me, Crewe rises. He comes close—not touching, but near enough that I feel his heat at my back. Like my body recognizes him the way it recognizes sunlight after too much winter.
He doesn’t speak.
He doesn’t have to.
Because I can feel the question in the air between us.
And the truth underneath it:
Whatever this is between us… it’s getting harder to pretend it’s just circumstance.
I turn off the faucet and face him.
His eyes drop to my mouth again.
My heart pounds.
Outside, the storm howls.
Inside, Crewe Hawthorne watches me like I’m something he’s already decided to keep.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, my fear shifts—not gone, not cured, but… steadied.
Because I’m not alone in the dark.
Not tonight.
Not anymore.
NINE
CREWE
The cabin settles around us after dinner like it’s exhaling.
Wind shoulders the walls. Snow keeps up its quiet assault on the windows. The fire burns down to a steady glow that paints Riley’s face in warm light when she moves through the room, stacking plates, rinsing a fork, trying to pretend her world isn’t on fire.