A message waited from Kipp. Tire cast uploaded. Working on match. Keep her close.
I typed back a single word. Always.
Then I turned the phone face down and stared up at the ceiling.
The fire had burned low again, only embers left in the grate. They pulsed red in the reflection on the wall, rising and falling with every breath of wind through the chimney. I could hearthe faint creak of the rafters and the soft hiss of snow brushing against the window.
Kristin stirred once, murmuring something I couldn’t make out, then went still again. Her warmth against me was grounding, steady. I held her a little tighter.
The minutes dragged on. Sleep wouldn’t come. My mind replayed every sound outside—the crunch of boots, the low moan of wire, the whisper of the wind through the pines. I knew the pattern of a man watching. The stillness that came from someone trained not to move until it mattered. Whoever he was, he hadn’t been wandering. He had a purpose.
I turned my head toward the window. The snow outside reflected the moonlight into the room, soft and silver. The world looked clean again, untouched. But underneath, the truth waited.
He’d been close enough to see her through that glass.
I got up quietly and pulled on my jeans and jacket. The boards were cold beneath my feet. I crossed the room without turning on the light and opened the curtain just enough to catch a glimpse of the yard. The porch light threw a wide ring over the drifts, catching the faint glitter of snow still falling. Nothing moved now.
I stayed there longer than I meant to. The cold from the glass seeped into my skin. The longer I looked, the stronger the pull grew—the instinct to go back out, to hunt the trail until I found where it ended. But the rational part of me, the one that had learned patience the hard way, kept me still.
Patience saves lives. That was rule one.
I closed the curtain and went back to bed.
Kristin stirred as I lay down. Her voice came quietly, half asleep. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
She shifted closer, her arm sliding over my chest. Within seconds, her breathing evened again.
The night stretched long. The clock ticked. Somewhere outside, an owl called once from the trees, its sound deep and hollow. I stared at the ceiling until the edges of the room softened into a grey haze.
When the first light of dawn finally pushed through the curtains, I eased out from under the quilt. The air had gone cold again, and the fire had burned down to faint coals. I pulled on my coat and stepped outside.
The yard was blanketed in new snow. Not a single mark remained. The prints were gone, the tire tracks gone, even the bent wire on the fence had been covered by the drift. It was as if the night had swallowed the evidence whole.
For a second, it almost felt peaceful again.
Then I looked toward the trees and saw how the shadows clung thicker there, how the wind moved through them like a whisper that didn’t belong. I took a slow breath, tasting the frost in the air.
He’d be back.
Men like that always came back.
I tightened my coat, the sound of the fabric cutting through the quiet, and glanced once at the window where Kristin still slept. She looked small against the glow of the firelight, her face calm in a way I hadn’t seen in weeks. I wanted to keep it that way.
When I finally went back into the house, I tiptoed around, pulling the blanket up over Kristin’s shoulders. My phone buzzed on the counter.
Kipp: Running the tread through records. Will update by noon.
Me: Thanks
Then I slipped the phone into my pocket and sat in the dark beside her, watching the front windows for any movement on the ridge.
Light finally spilled across the snow, turning it pink and orange in the glow, and the world looked clean again, like nothing had happened at all.
But I could still feel it. The presence. The waiting.
The storm hadn’t passed. It was only circling.
