No engines. No footsteps. No voices. Just wind and branches rubbing together like bones.
I shut the truck off and the world went even quieter.
Rylie stared at the cabin. “This is… yours?”
“It’s paid for,” I said. “That’s all that matters.”
She didn’t move.
I reached across her, popped the glove box, and pulled out the flashlight. I didn’t touch her. Not even by accident.
Not because I didn’t want to.
Because if I did, I wasn’t sure I could stop at one touch.
“Stay in the truck,” I said.
Her head snapped toward me. “What? No, I’m—”
“Rylie.” I kept my tone calm and firm. The same one I used with rookies when they wanted to play hero. “Stay. I need to clear it first. You know chase away the wild animals,” I say just to ease her nerves a little.
Her eyes flashed. “You think someone could be in there?”
“I don’t think. I check.”
That made her pause. Then she nodded once, tight and unhappy.
I stepped out, cold air slamming into my lungs. The higher elevation was much colder. The night smelled like pine sap and wet earth. My boots crunched softly over snow as I moved toward the cabin, flashlight off, using the moonlight and memory.
I knew every dip in the ground out here. Every line of sight. Every place a man could hide if he was stupid enough to try.
The cabin door was exactly where I left it.
I pulled my weapon, moved to the side, and listened again.
Nothing.
I opened the door in one smooth motion and slipped inside.
The cabin was small—one main room with a table, a couch that had seen better decades, a kitchenette with the wooden cook stove, and a narrow hallway leading to a bedroom and a bathroom. It smelled like cedar and old smoke from the last time I’d used the woodstove.
I swept the corners. Checked the windows. Checked the back door. Checked the closet. Under the bed. Behind the shower curtain.
Clear.
I turned the flashlight on and went straight to the woodstove. Set kindling. Stacked logs. Struck a match.
The flame caught, and warmth began the slow fight against the cold.
Then I went to the generator shed out back, flipped it on, and the cabin hummed to life—soft lights glowing in the windows like it had been waiting for us.
When I came back outside, Rylie was standing beside the truck with her coat pulled tight around her, hair blown across her face by the wind.
I stopped short.
“Didn’t I say stay in the truck?” I asked.
She lifted her chin. “Yes.”
