I no longer deserve to make these kinds of decisions. It's why I've exiled myself.
I lower the rifle slowly. That nagging voice was right from the start. Let it be. Let someone else make that call—people who are still connected to society's moral machinery.
The bear pauses once more to test the air, massive head swinging in a deliberate arc. Something in its demeanor changes—perhaps sensing the tension has broken. With surprising grace for something so large, it turns and lumbers away deeper into the forest, disappearing between the trees.
Light bursts and thunder crashes overhead as the spattering of rain turns heavy. My thumb clicks the safety back on the rifle. Something settles inside me like sediment at the bottom of a disturbed pond. Not relief. Not regret either. Just... existence. The liminal space I've inhabited for years now: a kind of living death. Purgatory by another name.
I turn away from where the bear disappeared, water already soaking through my jacket at the shoulders. Six years in this place. Longer than anywhere since... before. The cabin ain’t much, but it's been something close to home. As close as someone like me gets, anyway.
Time to move on. That's clear now.
Mary recognized me immediately in town. Called me by name without hesitation, like I belonged there. Dangerous. I've let myself become visible again. Let myself form patterns and become predictable. I’ve created connections, however thin.
Even the forest knows me now: the trails worn between my cabin and the best fishing spots, the trees I've marked, the places I've hunted. I've left too much of myself here.
I'll pack tonight and become a ghost again.
I go to turn when the hair on the back of my neck stands up. A presence. Close. Too close.
Cold metal presses against my skull. The unmistakable sound of a hammer being cocked splits the air.
The torrential rain masked their approach. Rookie mistake. Fatal mistake.
"Don't move."
The voice is harsh.
But feminine.
Two
"Slowly put your weapon down," the female voice commands from behind me. Her tone has a pretty music to it, but it’s rough with adrenaline.
I comply, muscles moving with deliberate slowness as I lower my rifle to the ground. "Take six steps forward."
Specific. Tactical. Keeping me at a distance gives her time to react. I count each step in my head as I move forward, hands still raised. Behind me, I hear her retrieve my rifle. The sound of metal scraping against dirt. The slight adjustment of weight as she picks it up.
I take a risk, turning slowly to face whoever's got me in their sights.
The bright orange fabric, unnatural out here in nature, catches my eye first. Prison scrubs, filthy but unmistakable. She's wrapped her top around her head like a makeshift bandanna, blond hair spilling out beneath it. Her ribbed white tank top clings to a frame that's curvy yet also contains lean muscle and tension. Her face is streaked with dirt, eyes wide and alert, scanning me with the wariness of a cornered animal.
My mind catalogs those details automatically. Thenecessary ones. But it’s the inconsequential ones that hold my attention.
She’s beautiful.
As exhausted and scared and maybe injured as she is, dressed in an unflattering prison uniform, it barely dims how attractive she is. Her eyes are ice blue, almost gray. The wisps of blond hair delicately frame a face with high cheekbones and a strong yet feminine jaw.
She holds my rifle with competent hands. And she said weapon. Not gun. Military terminology. Or law enforcement. Immediately, I know I'm not dealing with a standard criminal.
Possibly someone much more dangerous.
I stare at her, measuring distance, calculating angles. Six steps. It would be far enough to be out of reach of a normal man—even one my size. I'm a big guy, towering over most people at six foot four.
But she doesn’t know that she’s not dealing with a normal man. I could possibly cross that gap before she steadied her aim, before her mind could convince her finger to pull the trigger. “What the fuck are you doing out here?” she grits out.
The truth is easy enough. “I’m hunting.”
Her eyes dart around. “You’re alone?”
