“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then we wait. We’ve contacted the FBI and they were already investigating Thorn.
She let out a slow breath, the kind that sounded like she’d been holding it in for hours. “And my dad?”
“I told Wolf. He’ll handle your dad.”
That earned me another sharp look. “Handle him how?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, and that actually made her blink. “Wolf has this way of looking at people like they’re a problem he’s already solved. Your dad will be mad for about ten minutes. Then he’ll realize you’re alive because we moved you.”
Rylie turned her face to the window again. Outside, the woods thickened. The road narrowed. Snow clung to the shadows on either side, and the deeper we went, the quieter everything got—like the world itself was holding its breath.
That was what I wanted.
Quiet.
Unseen.
Unreachable.
I’d learned a long time ago that there were two kinds of protection. The kind where you stood your ground and dared the threat to come. And the kind where you disappeared so completely that the threat never even got a chance.
Rylie deserved the second kind.
I didn’t.
But she did.
The truck bounced over a rut. Rylie sucked in a breath and grabbed the dash, her knuckles going pale.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“I’m fine.” Her chin lifted. “I just… didn’t realize you were serious.”
I flicked my eyes to her again. “About what?”
She hesitated. “About him. About Thomas Thorn.”
My jaw tightened.
I didn’t like saying his name. Didn’t like giving him space in the air between us.
“You ran out on your wedding,” I said, keeping my voice even. “From a man who isn’t letting you breathe. A man who thinks he owns you. a man who choked you until you blacked out. That’s serious. He threatened you and everyone in Eagle River.”
Rylie’s lips parted like she wanted to argue, but nothing came out.
Good.
The cabin appeared out of nowhere.
One second, there was only forest, and the next, the headlights caught a rough wooden structure tucked back behind a stand of pines, its roof dusted with snow from the other day, its windows dark. No porch light. No signs. No path except the one I’d just driven.
I pulled the truck behind a cluster of trees, killed the lights, and let the engine idle for three seconds.
Listen.
Silence.
