The far barn looms through the snow. The doors are half-open, light spilling out like a beacon.
“Shay?” I call, stepping inside.
It smells like hay, winter, and faint goat musk.
Then I see her.
Shay.
She’s on her knees, her freckles stark against her pale, terrified face.
A man stands behind her with a gun pressed to her shoulder.
My stomach drops so hard I swear I hear it hit the barn floor.
I recognize Harry instantly. The beard. The dead eyes. The way he holds a gun like it’s an extension of his ego.
“Hello, Sadie,” he says lightly, like we’re brunch friends instead of enemies. He holds up Shay’s phone. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”
Oh, God.Hesent the text.
Shay looks up, eyes wild. “Don’t,” she breathes. “Run. Sadie… run!”
Every cell in my body screamsflight.
But I step closer instead, palms raised. “Let her go.”
Harry tsks, disappointed. “We both know you’re not negotiating anything. Clarissa wants the numbers your father gave you. Now.”
My heart slams painfully.
Shay jerks when the gun digs into her shoulder. “Sadie?—”
“Okay.” My voice sounds thin, far away. “I’ll go with you. I’ll give her the numbers. Just let Shay go.”
Harry smiles. It’s worse than the storm.
“Let her go first,” I insist. “Now. Or I don’t say a word.”
Shay shakes her head hard. “Sadie, don’t?—”
“Shut up,” Harry snaps, shoving her.
She winces as he pushes her toward the open barn door. “She walks out. I keep her phone. That’ll give us time before anyone realizes what happened.”
“Go,” I whisper. “Please. Just go.”
Our eyes meet—hers full of terror, mine full of apology for bringing this to her door.
Shay runs.
Harry watches her disappear into white, then turns the gun on me. “Your turn.”
Blood drains from my body.
I think of Wyatt. The way he held me like I was something worth protecting.
I might never see him again.
