Thomas.
Jack filed the name away instantly, locking it into the growing mental board of players and motives. Another piece of the puzzle. Another shadow behind the threat. He didn’t recognize the name, but the tone carried weight—someone who issued instructions, someone whose word carried authority.
“Check every crevice, every overhang,” the man continued. “They’ve got something that belongs to our employer, and he wants it back.”
Their employer.
The word sent a chill through Jack’s chest. These weren’t just desperate relatives or reckless vigilantes. These were hired men, working for someone with enough money and reach to organize a coordinated manhunt in the middle of the Tennessee mountains. Someone who knew about Eleanor’s locket. Someone who understood what it meant. And someone who waswilling to burn buildings, attack civilians, and now execute two people in the dark to keep a century-old secret buried.
Jack’s mind raced. Sarah Mitchell had resources. The Mitchell family had legacy money and influence. But was she the architect, or just a piece on someone else’s board? Richard Mitchell had murdered for inheritance nearly a hundred years ago—had that instinct for preservation passed down through generations, refined into something colder, more calculated?
A beam of light swept across the mouth of the cave, so close Jack could see dust motes shimmer in its path. He pressed himself deeper into shadow, every nerve tuned to movement. Instinct took over. His arm shifted, angling protectively across Annie’s space, blocking the narrow opening with his body.
In the darkness, his hand found hers.
She squeezed back.
The simple pressure sent warmth surging up his arm, grounding him in a way nothing else could. He thought of the cabin, of the way she’d looked at him when he’d spoken about a future he’d been too afraid to claim.
Ask me again when we’re not hiding from killers in a mountain cabin. But Jack? The answer’s going to be yes.
Hope flared in his chest—dangerous, defiant hope. They had a future. If they lived.
“Nothing here,” one of the men called.
The light slid away, vanishing up the rock face, but Jack didn’t move. He stayed carved into stone, listening, counting breaths, tracking distance by sound alone. They were lucky—for the moment. But luck was thin cover. The cave was temporary shelter, nothing more. Eventually, they would have to move. And when they did, there would be no stone between them and the men above.
“Jack,” Annie whispered.
“Yeah?”
“I love you too.”
The words hit him harder than any bullet ever had.
For a moment, the cave, the mountain, the men above them all blurred into nothing. There was only Annie’s voice in the dark and the truth she’d just given him. Love. Chosen. Returned. Real.
He wanted to pull her into his arms, to anchor himself in the proof of her heartbeat, to kiss her until the world made sense again. But the murmur of voices overhead tethered him to reality. This wasn’t safety. This was survival.
“Annie,” he breathed, turning toward her.
“I know this isn’t the right time,” she whispered. “But I needed you to know. I’ve loved you for four years, and I’m tired of being afraid of it too.”
Her words slid into the hollow spaces his confession had left behind. The same truth. The same long silence finally broken. Something shifted and settled in his chest, not easing the danger, but clarifying it. They weren’t just running anymore. They were fighting for something.
“When we get out of this,” he said quietly, “when we solve Eleanor’s case and bring these people to justice, I’m going to ask you properly. With a ring and everything.”
“When we get out of this,” Annie corrected, “we’re going to solve Eleanor’s case together. And then you can ask me properly.”
Even here, even now, she was still Annie—unyielding, courageous, refusing to be protected out of her own life. The shape of her strength had always been this way. It was one of the reasons he loved her. It was also the reason he feared for her.
The voices above continued for long, grinding minutes, drifting, circling, occasionally flaring closer before retreating again. Jack tracked them by sound and instinct, countingheartbeats between steps, noting the cadence of boots, the way the search widened. Eventually, the mountain swallowed them.
Silence followed.
Jack waited ten more minutes before risking even a whisper. “I think they’ve moved on.”
“How can you be sure?”
