But those explanations didn’t settle.
Suddenly, Hamilton turned, his attention snapping toward the road in the distance.
Headlights flared through the trees lining the road leading to the refuge.
Caleb exhaled and reached for his radio.
Whatever had come through the woods would have to wait.
Amelia Anderson, their newest guest, was set to arrive, and he needed to be there to help with intake.
But his muscles remained tense as he made a mental note to keep an eye on these woods.
Millie Anderson slowed, her hands tight on the steering wheel as she watched the headlights catch the edges of trees and rocks on either side of the narrow road cut into the mountain.
The Blue Ridge Mountains pressed closer, the world seemingly reduced to pavement, darkness, and the steady sound of her own breathing.
More than once, she’d wanted to turn around. Especially when the houses around her had thinned. When the road became more secluded. When the streetlights had faded to nothing. When her cell phone signal—a burner phone—had disappeared.
But she didn’t let herself do that. She’d lived in fear for entirely too long.
She couldn’t let the emotion control her anymore.
Biscuit shifted in the back seat.
She glanced in the rearview mirror and met his sweet eyes. “I know you’re anxious. So am I. But we’re almost there.”
The heater hummed. The air smelled faintly of dog and the coffee she’d spilled earlier. She had two bags in the trunk along with a bag of dog food but nothing more—only the essentials.
She’d had to leave quickly. Had to abandon her furniture and other keepsakes. Making a big ordeal out of leaving would have drawn too much attention.
The road curved ahead, and she slowed. She almost missed the weathered wooden sign with simple lettering posted near a dark lane.
REFUGE COVE
Her foot hovered over the brake.
This was it.
Her pulse kicked.Maybe you should turn around, Millie. Maybe you shouldn’t stop. You shouldn’t trust this unfamiliar place.
But the thought of going back to DC—to Garrick—tightened her chest until breathing felt harder than stopping.
As resolve hardened inside her, she eased onto the long, gravel drive. The tires of her Lexus crunched loudly, the sound echoing more than she expected.
The drive curved and opened onto a wide clearing, headlights catching the outline of a large house set back from the road. Even in the dark, the place felt substantial—farmhouse in style, broad and sprawling, its shape stretching upward two stories. A wide porch wrapped the front, decorative lights glowing along the railing and spilling warmth into the night.
A matching outbuilding sat to one side, lower and darker, with a design that showed it was intentionally part of the property.
In the back, she saw a white barn rising high above the other buildings.
A pond lay out front, barely visible until her headlights skimmed its surface.
Millie slowed, something in her chest easing. The place didn’t feel secretive or temporary.
It felt lived-in. Rooted. Like a place where people were meant to stay.
For the first time since she’d turned onto the mountain road, she thought she might have made the right choice by coming here.
