I nodded, comforted by that balance.
By him.
I drifted to sleep believing the worst was behind us.
Believing the quiet meant peace.
Outside, the rain washed the streets clean.
And somewhere far beyond Eagle River, men who had lost power—and money—were beginning to look for someone to blame.
28
Rylie
The night felt ordinary.
That should have been my first warning—but ordinary had finally stopped feeling suspicious. The tavern was closed, the Rangers scattered upstairs or out on late patrols, and Trigger had stepped out ten minutes ago to help Wolf check a delivery truck that had come in after hours.
Ten minutes.
I stood at the sink, rinsing a mug, humming softly without realizing it.
That’s when the lights went out.
Not a flicker.
A clean cut.
The hum of the refrigerator died. The room plunged into darkness so complete it stole the air from my lungs.
“Trigger?” I called.
No answer.
My pulse picked up—but I didn’t panic. Power outages happened. Storms knocked lines down. I reached for the flashlight kept in the drawer beside the stove.
The back door opened.
I froze.
Footsteps crossed the threshold—slow, deliberate, completely unconcerned with being heard.
“This isn’t funny,” I said, forcing my voice steady.
A light snapped on.
Not overhead.
A narrow beam—too bright, too focused—cut across my face, blinding me for half a second.
Then hands grabbed me.
One clamped over my mouth. Another locked around my arms, pinning them to my sides before I could scream. My feet barely left the floor as I was hauled backward, my mug shattering somewhere behind me.
I bit down hard.
The man grunted but didn’t loosen his grip.
