I keep my voice even.
“My brothers are outside,” I tell her. “We’re already set.”
That lands differently. Her eyes search mine.
“You knew?” she whispers.
“We knew they’d try something,” I say. “And we were ready before they got near the track.”
Her breath catches. Not calmer yet, but steadier.
“I can’t,” she whispers. “I can’t do this again.”
“You won’t,” I say. “Get up.”
I move to the closet and pull it open. Behind the hanging jackets is a narrow space I built years ago, back when sleep only came if I knew there was somewhere safe to disappear. A crawlspace behind a false panel. Reinforced. Sealed. Vented through the wall so whoever’s inside can breathe. Enough room to hide a person.
Ruby stares at it like it’s a grave.
“Ruby,” I say, and my tone hardens because panic gets people killed. “In. Now.”
Her lips tremble.
“I’ll be right here,” I add, softer. “And they won’t get near you.”
That lands.
She moves.
Bare feet on wood. Breathing ragged. Eyes still too wide.
I guide her gently. Her eyes lock on mine, terrified.
“Look at me,” I say.
She does.
“If you hear shouting, you stay quiet,” I tell her. “If you hear shots, you stay quiet. If you hear my voice, you answer only if I use your name.”
Ruby swallows hard. “Okay.”
I squeeze her hand once, then let go. I slide the panel closed and hang the jackets back into place, hiding the seam.
I grab my gun from the nightstand and move to the living room.
The cabin is quiet. Too quiet.
My pulse is steady. My hands are steady. The adrenaline hits clean, familiar.
War taught me how to move through this.
Love makes it harder, because now I have something to lose.
Headlights cut through the trees outside, sweeping across the cabin walls.
Two vehicles.
One truck.
