“From what I’ve figured out over the years, as long as we are wet from the river, we won’t make any tracks,” Ace explained. “They’ll follow us to the water and that’s all. They can scour the riverbank, but they’ll never pick up our trail.”
“We’re safe,” I said, half to him, half to myself, and for the first time since we started running, I let myself breathe.
“For now,” he said.
He brushed a strand of damp hair from my cheek. His fingers lingered just a moment too long.
Exhaustion pulled at my limbs and my eyelids grew heavier with each step. “Please tell me this cabin is close.”
Ace nodded. “But not too close.”
More shouting rose out from the far side of the river.
“We need to disappear deeper into the forest. Having no tracks won’t save us if they catch sight of us.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I picked up the pace and followed Ace into the dark shadows of the forest.
3
It took another grueling hour for us to reach the cabin, though it felt more like a lifetime measured in aching limbs and rasping breaths. Ace and I had different interpretations of what “close” meant.
Every step hurt. My legs trembled beneath me. Even the infallible Ace showed signs of weariness, his broad shoulders slumped forward, and his movements grew slower. Nala had started limping again, whatever magic the river had imbued into her limbs had worn off. Now her back paw dragged slightly with each step as though the weight of the day pulled her down.
We hadn’t spoken since the trees swallowed our trail and we could no longer hear snapping branches behind us.
As we walked through the large trees, the heavy hanging mist cleared to reveal a cabin nestled in a small clearing. Even veiled by shadow, it was clear time had not been kind to the small building. Moss and vines crept up the sides, blending wood and earth into one as the forest reclaimed the cabin. Cobwebs clung to every seam between the ancient logs and draped like silver-threaded curtains across the corners of the roof. They caught the last light of day in their delicate, glistening strands.
A small deck jutted out the front and sagged with neglect. One of the planks had split clean through. No lanterns glowed from within nor were there any flickers of light from a hearth fire to greet us. Instead, shadows pressed tightly to the glass panes of the windows, and silence settled over the clearing.
The door stopped me in my tracks. Worn smooth with age, it had a large dog door installed into the bottom panel. It looked so out of place. Why would Ace have a dog door in his secret cabin?
“Do you like it?” Ace asked.
“The door?”
“The cabin.”
“You need to work on your housekeeping,” I said.
“I never stayed in one place too long.” Ace stepped forward. His hand brushing briefly along mine before he leaned forward to open the door. “It’s been a while.”
The metal hinges groaned and the whole cabin shuttered. A wave of damp, stale air rushed out.
“You don’t say?” I pushed past him to step across the threshold and into the silence of the cabin. Inside, the air was cool and faintly musty, laced with the scent of aged wood and dust. “You could be showing me an empty grave right now and I’d still ask the same questions.”
“You haven’t asked any questions.” He followed Nala into the cabin and shut the door behind us. The hinges creaked in protest.
Or maybe in greeting.
Ace now loomed behind me, and everything became smaller. Sometimes it was easy to forget how large he was, but at times like this, with him so close and with the walls closing in around us, the broadness of his shoulders, his height and his presence were undeniable.
“Is there any linen and where do I sleep?” I continued to look around for the nearest place to collapse.
The entryway opened directly into a modest living space. To the right, a worn but sturdy couch sat positioned beneath a wide front window and angled to view the forest through the dirty panes. A woolen throw, fraying at the edges, was draped across the back, and the cushions were faded. But the couch held the kind of comfort I looked for when I wanted to get sucked into a good book. I could take three steps, flop down, and fall asleep in seconds.
To the left, a narrow wooden ladder stretched upward, presumably to a sleeping loft above. The rungs were smooth from years of use, and the loft area disappeared into shadows. How many times had Ace climbed this ladder with sleepy limbs, the rungs creaking softly beneath his weight?
Directly ahead, two closed doors stared back at me. I couldn’t tell what lay behind them—bedrooms, perhaps, or storage rooms. Based on the external size of the cabin, the doors wouldn’t lead to anything substantial in size.
