“Yes, we.” I held her gaze. “I told you, you’re not alone in this.”
The words hung between us, weighted with everything we weren’t saying. I could feel myself teetering on the edge of something dangerous—not just the external threat, but the way my chest tightened when she looked at me like that, like I was someone worth believing in.
The moment stretched, electric with possibility, until Ella finally looked away.
“You should go home,” she said. “Check on Caleb. Get some real sleep.”
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
“Jake—”
“Not happening.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I’ll sleep on the couch again. Or in my truck ifyou prefer. But I’m staying.”
She sighed, too exhausted to argue. “Fine. The couch it is.”
Later, after she’d gone to bed and the house had fallen silent, I sat in the darkness of the living room, my rifle across my knees. The security system’s small green light blinked steadily near the front door, a technological guardian that felt woefully inadequate against whatever was coming.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. Another text from an unknown number:
“YOU CAN’T PROTECT HER.”
I deleted it without responding, then settled deeper into the couch, eyes fixed on the window where moonlight spilled across the floor in silver puddles.
Let them come, I thought. They’d find out just how wrong they were.
Chapter 8
Ella
Iwoke sometime in the night, disoriented by unfamiliar shadows crossing my ceiling. The red numbers on my alarm clock read 2:14 AM. I listened for what had woken me—a creak, a footstep, anything out of place—but the house was silent except for the gentle hum of the furnace.
My throat was parched. I slipped out of bed, pulled on my robe, and padded down the hallway toward the kitchen. A soft glow spilled from the living room, and I paused, remembering Jake was still here, keeping watch.
I peeked around the corner. He sat on the edge of the couch, his back to me, head bowed over something in his hands. His rifle leaned against the coffee table within easy reach. The single lamp cast his shadow long across the floor.
“Can’t sleep?” I asked softly.
He startled slightly, turning to face me. “Hey,” he said, his voice rough with fatigue. “Just checking thesecurity feed.”
I moved closer and saw he was holding his phone, scrolling through camera footage. “Anything?”
“All quiet.” He set the phone down and rubbed his eyes. “You should be resting.”
“So should you.” I sat beside him, leaving a careful space between us. “You can’t stay awake forever.”
“Watch me try,” he muttered, and despite everything, I smiled.
The silence between us felt different than before—less awkward, more companionable. We were two people facing the same storm, huddled in the eye of it together.
“Thank you,” I said suddenly. “For everything today. Scout, the security system... just being here.”
He shook his head. “Don’t thank me yet. We don’t know if any of it will work.”
“It already has.” I gestured around us. “I feel safer with you here. So does Nora.”
His expression softened at the mention of my daughter. “She’s a good kid. Tough, like her mom.”
“Sometimes too tough for her own good,” I admitted. “She gets that from me.”
