Too smooth.
The wind howls against the windows, rattling them like something is trying to get in. A gust slams a loose shutter outside, the bang echoing through the walls like a fist.
Okay. Now panic.
I grab her spare coat, the one she didn’t wear this morning. I check every corner—bathroom, loft, under the damn table even though she hasn’t hidden under furniture since she was eight.
She isn’t here.
My breath falters. My vision narrows.
I force myself to think, to organize the chaos before it takes over. Violet said she was heading straight to the store and then straight home. No detours. No wandering.
That was two hours ago.
She should be here.
Unless…
Unless the storm hit early. Unless she didn’t make it back in time. Unless she’s somewhere on that road… with a stranger who asks the wrong questions.
“No,” I whisper, out loud, to no one.
I lunge for the landline—the old rotary that came with the cabin. My fingers slip against the cold metal dial. I call the store first.
The line doesn’t connect—just dead silence. Not even static.
Storm’s closed the wires. Frozen them. Severed them.
I try the sheriff’s office—same dead line. The mountain has cut us off.
Jax. I need Jax.
Even if I don’t know what we are. Even if I’m terrified of needing him. I need him now.
My hands shake as I snatch up my small, useless phone again, thumb fumbling over the cracked edge of the case.
The signal bar flickers weakly—one moment of mercy. I don’t think. I dial.
The wind screams against the cabin walls, rattling windows in their frames. The floor trembles under my boots, the storm pressing against every inch of this home like it wants inside.
One ring. Then static.
I clutch the phone harder, like gripping it tight enough might anchor the call to this world.
“Come on,” I whisper. “Please—come on.”
Another ring — warped, distorted, like the sound has to crawl its way through the storm.
Then—
A click. A breath.
“Ava?”
Jax’s voice. Rough. Present. Alive.
A lifeline made of sound.
