Fear follows right after.
A cabin in the woods could be empty.
It could be another trap.
It could belong to the kind of man who sees a girl alone and thinks she’s an opportunity.
I stop at the edge of the clearing and stare, breathing hard, tasting cold metal in the back of my throat. My hands shake at my sides.
I don’t knock on strangers’ doors.
I don’t ask.
Asking means trusting.
Trusting means giving someone the power to say no, or worse, to say yes and mean something else.
But the alternative is the trees and the engine and the men who already proved what they’ll do.
My body decides for me.
I move.
I cross the clearing and climb the porch steps. My hands slip on the railing, but I catch myself and keep going.
I reach the door.
My hand lifts. It stops.
What if nobody answers? What if the wrong person does?
My legs give out. I slide down against the wall beside the door, trying to keep my eyes open.
Then a sound snaps me upright.
An engine.
Far, but real.
My stomach drops. My hands slap against the door like it can save me even before it opens.
I knock.
Once. Twice.
The porch light stays off, but a lock clicks from the other side, sharp and fast, and the door opens.
Warmth spills out first. Light second.
Then him.
He fills the doorway like he was built for it, broad and solid, shoulders spanning the frame. Brown hair, rough and slightly too long, with silver threaded at the temples like he’s earned every year of it. A day’s worth of stubble shadows his jaw, adding to the hard lines of his face, softened only by tiredness and something watchful.
His eyes find mine.
Hazel. Clear. The kind that don’t just look, they register. Like he’s seeing everything at once and still somehow seeing me.
My brain stutters. My chest tightens.
