Trigger didn’t look at him again.
Rylie feltit before she heard it.
The tension that had been coiled tight in her chest for days suddenly loosened—like a string snapping free.
When Trigger emerged from the trees, walking toward her with that same steady stride, her knees nearly gave out.
He stopped in front of her, eyes searching her face first. Always first.
“It’s done,” he said softly.
She stared at him for half a second—then stepped into his arms and held on like she’d been waiting to breathe her whole life.
He wrapped her up instantly, pressing his cheek to her hair, anchoring her against his chest.
“You’re safe,” he murmured. “He can’t touch you again.”
Her breath shook. “I knew you’d come back.”
Trigger pulled back just enough to look at her, his thumb brushing beneath her eye.
“I told you,” he said quietly. “I don’t walk away.”
She smiled through tears. “Good. Because neither do I.”
He kissed her then—not fierce, not desperate.
Certain.
Behind them, the forest settled.
The threat was gone.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, Rylie felt the truth settle deep in her bones—
She wasn’t running anymore.
She was home.
27
Rylie
Two Months Later
Safety didn’t arrive all at once.
It came in pieces.
In mornings when I woke up without fear, clawing at my chest.
In coffee brewed too strong because Trigger forgot to measure.
In the sound of boots on the tavern stairs and the low murmur of Rangers arguing about nothing important.
Life resumed—carefully.
Trigger and I didn’t rush anything. We didn’t pretend the world hadn’t nearly swallowed us whole. Instead, we learned each other in quiet ways—shared meals, slow evenings, long walks that never strayed far from familiar ground.
