“Okay,” she whispers.
Relief moves through me, quiet but firm. I reach into her car and grab the backpack on the passenger seat.
“Anything else you need?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “That’s it.”
I sling the bag over my shoulder and guide her toward the truck with a hand at her back. She’s ice cold even through her jacket. The realization sends another spike of anger through me. Not at her. At the situation that put her here.
I open the passenger door and help her up. She climbs in stiffly, fingers clumsy with cold. I crank the heat as soon as I’m behind the wheel.
For a minute neither of us speaks. The truck fills with the low hum of the engine and the rush of warm air. Wren holds her hands in front of the vents, eyes closed, like she’s soaking in the heat.
“You’re safe,” I say quietly.
Her eyes open. They’re glossy but steady. She nods once.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I pull back onto the road, my headlights cutting through the thickening snow. The mountain looms ahead, dark and familiar. Beside me, Wren is still shaking, but some of the tension has drained from her shoulders.
We’ll figure out whatever chased her up this road.
For now, getting her warm is enough.
Chapter Five
WREN
The truck climbs higherand higher until the town disappears completely behind us. Snow thickens against the windshield, swirling in white sheets that blur the world into something soft and endless. The heater hums steadily, and I keep my hands in front of the vents like I’m afraid the warmth might vanish if I stop paying attention to it.
I’m still shaking, but it’s not as violent now. The cold is leaving my bones slowly. In its place is a different kind of tremor. One made of nerves and disbelief and the lingering echo of Alex’s voice in my head.
You’re done running.
I swallow hard and stare out the window. Trees crowd the road, tall and dark, their branches heavy with snow. The mountain feels… protective. Like it’s wrapping itself around us and shutting the rest of the world out.
Calder drives like he does everything else. Calm. Controlled. His big hands are steady on the wheel. He hasn’t asked me a single question since I told him I couldn’t go back to the diner. He just accepted it and adjusted course like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The road curves, and then a fence rises out of the snow.
It’s tall. Metal. Solid in a way that makes my breath catch. Cameras sit mounted at the corners, their dark lenses angled toward the road. The gate is closed, a thick barrier between the outside world and whatever lies beyond it.
Calder slows and punches a code into a keypad mounted on a post. His movements are efficient, practiced. There’s a soft beep, and the gate begins to slide open with a low mechanical hum.
I stare at it. “You live here?”
He glances at me, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “Yeah.”
The truck rolls forward as the gate clears. It closes behind us with a final, decisive clang that echoes through the quiet.
Something in my chest loosens.
It’s ridiculous. It’s just a fence. Just a gate. But watching it shut feels like watching the world get locked out. Like for the first time since this morning, there’s a real barrier between me and the thing chasing me.
The driveway stretches ahead, winding through the trees. It’s longer than I expect. We drive for what feels like forever, snow crunching under the tires, until the woods finally open up.
The house comes into view, and I forget how to breathe.
