The winding, narrow forest path was barely visible even with Hail guiding me. Branches caught at my clothes and hair, and more than once I had to duck to avoid running into a low branch. The darkness under the canopy was complete, disorienting. I kept stumbling, saved only by Hail’s steady grip on my hand.
“Stop,” Hail said suddenly.
I froze, terror shooting through me. Had he heard or seen something? We were about to be surrounded.
But he just adjusted our direction, leading me around a fallen log I hadn’t seen. My overactive nerves were making me paranoid. I was jumping at shadows and imagining threats that weren’t there.
Or were they? In my experience, paranoia had kept me alive. Assuming the worst had saved me more than once. My fear wasn’t irrational. It was the only thing standing between me and a bullet in the head.
Gradually, the trees began to thin. Points of starlight became visible through the canopy, and I could make out shapes ahead instead of just endless darkness.
“That’s my home there,” Hail whispered, pointing through the last screen of branches.
The building sat in an open field, a simple white ranch house with black shutters and a small back porch. A red-painted gambrel barn stood behind the house, looking like it belonged in a calendar photo of rural America. The road back to town curved past the front side of the property, but it was empty and dark.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. It was everything I’d ever dreamed of having, a real home, peaceful and safe and permanent.
“It’s safe,” he said, which mattered more than beauty right now.
The house was isolated, surrounded by endless fields. Perfect for privacy, but also perfect for an ambush. There were a dozen places for snipers to hide, countless approaches for a coordinated attack.
I shook my head, trying to shrug off the dark thoughts. This was exactly the kind of thinking that had kept me running for months, never able to trust or settle anywhere. If I was going to stay with Hail, I had to find a way to turn off the constant fear.
We left the woods, ducked, rushing across the big open area until I was panting. Hail was not, but we’d reached the back of the barn. We crouched in the shadows for another ten minutes or so, watching the house and surrounding area for any sign of movement. Hail’s tension coiled across my skin. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. He was taking this as seriously as I was, which both comforted and terrified me.
The windows of the house remained dark, with no obvious signs of forced entry. Nothing moved in the yard or on the road beyond. It looked peaceful, innocent. But looks could be deceiving. I’d learned that the hard way.
“What if they’re already inside?” I whispered.
“They’re not,” Hail said with the same quiet confidence he’d shown before.
“How can you tell?”
“Tressa would know. She’d smell-smell them, hear them. Animals always know.”
I looked down at the white wolf, who was relaxed and alert. If there were strangers in the house, surely she’d be acting differently.
“Clear,” Hail finally said.
We skirted along the left wall of the barn and paused at the end before springing across the open space to the back deck, Tressa loping beside us. Those thirty seconds of exposure felt like the longest of my life. I imagined crosshairs tracking my back, rifle scopes zeroing in on my chest. They wouldn’t outright kill me. Not until they’d either gotten the information they were seeking or decided I really didn’t know where my father might’ve hidden the stolen artwork.
We reached the deck unharmed, without a shout or cry of discovery.
Hail had the back door unlocked and open in seconds, pulling me inside and immediately locking it behind us. The solid thunk of a deadbolt sliding home made me want to collapse with relief.
The kitchen was tidy and spacious, with an island on one end and orc-sized table and chairs on the left that made me feel the size of a child. I spied a dining room beyond, and a hallway to the left that led to what I assumed were bedrooms, a living room, and a bathroom. Everything looked clean and organized. It felt lived-in rather than sterile.
“Welcome home.” Hail placed my suitcase on the floor.
The word sent a pang through my chest. I’d almost forgotten what that felt like. For months, home had been whatever hotelroom or tent site I could afford for a few nights. Before that, it had been my apartment not far from my father’s house. I’d lived close with the intention of being nearby if he needed me.
This place felt different. It was warm. Welcoming. Full of Hail’s personality and care. I could see him here, drinking a cup of tea from one of his pottery mugs, reading in the living room, and cooking meals for one.
Now it would be meals for two. At least temporarily.
A sharp knock on the back door made me jump. My heart shot up my throat, and I shot Hail a look of pure panic. They’d found us. They’d followed us somehow, and now they were here. This was it. This was how it ended.
Hail moved over to peer through the glass before glancing back at me. “It’s Greel.”
