Only one mile between clinic and home. Violet walked it this morning. Smiling. Confident.
The thought unclenches something in my chest. Just a little.
This morning feels like another lifetime. Or someone else’s.
Because all day, I haven’t been able to shake him—the man in the clinic who flashed a press badge like a threat disguised as bureaucracy. The stranger who asked about Jackson Hale.
The name still skitters across the inside of my skull like a spider’s legs.
I told him I didn’t know who he was talking about—and I meant it. Because I don’t know Jackson Hale.
I only know Jax.
Jax, who taught Violet how to start a fire without panic. Jax, who kissed me like a confession—and then let me go when I said I wasn’t ready.
The thought knocks the air out of me like a fist.
If that man proves Jax isn’t who he says he is… what then?
What if Jax has to leave? What if he’s taken back—dragged into a world he ran from until his lungs bled?
Where does that leave Violet and me?
Cold fear tumbles through my stomach as I reach the turnoff to our cabin. The porch light is on, a golden orb fighting against the wind.
Good. She’s home. She made it.
I force a shaky exhale and climb onto the porch, shaking snow from my hood as I fumble for the doorknob.
The door swings open easily.
Too easily.
“Violet?” I call into the warm, lamplit air, snow slushing off my boots.
No answer.
No Violet sprawled on the couch with a mug of cocoa. No music playing through tinny earbuds. No boots discarded by the heater.
Just stillness.
“Vi?” Louder this time. Sharper.
My heart skips.
The house should be loud. Teenage-girl loud. The kind of loud that makes me grateful and annoyed in equal measure.
I shed my coat, yank off gloves, and check the kitchen. Nothing. No hot chocolate supplies on the counter. No bag from the general store.
Maybe she stopped by Jax’s? Maybe she’s warming up there, waiting for me?
God, please.
“Violet?” I try again, but the hallway eats my voice.
I don’t panic yet.
I go to her room—empty. The blanket on her bed is perfectly smooth.
