"Not because you're not safe," I clarify quickly. "Because this place is too visible. Too many people know where to find it. If your ex is still out there looking, he'll check the obvious places first."
Understanding flickers in her eyes. "Where, then?"
"Our cabin," I say. "Fifteen minutes outside town. It’s isolated, you'll be safe there."
She stares at me. I watch her weigh the risk, every self-preservation instinct she has must be screaming at her to refuse.
But she's out of options.
"Okay," she says.
I straighten, already running through what needs to happen. I motion to Grave, who appears instantly.
"I'm taking her to the cabin," I tell him. "Let Hansen know. Tell Miller to keep eyes on the roads."
Grave nods, gaze flicking to Megan with something that might be approval. "You need backup?"
"Not yet." I meet his eyes. "But stay ready."
He claps my shoulder once and disappears back into the bar.
I look at Megan. "You ready?"
She nods, pulling my jacket tighter around herself.
We head for the door together. The storm hits us the second we step outside, wind knifing through layers, snow stinging exposed skin, cold so sharp it steals breath. The world has gone white and howling, visibility reduced to a few feet of swirling chaos.
I guide Megan toward my truck, one hand at her back to keep her steady.
I get her into the passenger seat, crank the heat, and move around to the driver's side. The engine roars to life, loud enough to cut through the wind. I let it idle for a moment, watching snow pile against the windshield, and feel the weight of what I've just done settle fully.
She's running from someone, and I've just put myself directly between her and whatever's coming.
I should be smarter than this, know better than to get involved.
But when I glance over at her huddled in my jacket, hands still shaking, eyes watching me like I'm the only safe thing left in the world, I know I'm already too far gone to turn back.
I shift into gear and pull out into the storm.
Chapter 2 – Megan
The truck's headlights carve tunnels through falling snow, and I watch the light sweep over white drifts and dark trees in a rhythm that becomes almost hypnotic.
My hands have stopped shaking. I notice this suddenly, looking down at my fingers wrapped tight around the seatbelt, and I'm not sure if that's a sign of safety or just exhaustion finally winning out over adrenaline.
Morgan drives with absolute focus, his eyes on the road, his hands sure and steady on the wheel. He hasn't looked at me since we left the bar, hasn't tried to make conversation or fill the silence with reassurances I wouldn't believe anyway.
I'm so tired it feels like my bones have turned to lead. The exhaustion hits me all at once, crashing over me like a wave I've been outrunning for too long, and suddenly I'm aware of every ache I've been ignoring—shoulders tight, ribs sore, thighs burning. My head throbs dully behind my eyes and my throat is raw.
Every part of me is demanding payment for survival, and I don't have anything left to give except this quiet surrender to the warmth and the steady motion of the truck carrying me somewhere I'm choosing to believe is safe.
I let my head rest against the cold window and close my eyes, just for a moment.
"You doing okay?"
Morgan's voice is low and careful, checking on me without intruding, and when I open my eyes I find him glancing at me briefly before returning his attention to the road.
"Yeah," I say, though my voice sounds strange even to me, hoarse and small in the quiet cab. "Just tired."
