“Soon as we can get you down the mountain safely.” He glances at the sky—clearing, but still heavy with the promise of another front. “Maybe in the next day or two.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
He turns to go. Then stops, and turns back. “Got a BOLO out on a black Escalade. Washington plates. Driver matches the description you gave, Miss Hart. Male. Mid-thirties. Scar over the left eye.”
Sabrina goes rigid beside me.
I already know what’s coming.
Silas’s voice drops lower. “Last pinged cell data puts him sixty miles south of here. Moving north. Fast. If he’s headed this way, he’ll hit the pass in the next hour.”
The air turns to ice in my lungs.
Sabrina makes a small, choked sound.
Silas’s eyes flick between us. “You two stay put till I radio clear. Doors locked. Lights low. You see anything—anything—you call it in. Don’t play hero.” He climbs back into his truck. Engine growls to life. Tires crunch snow as he reverses, then heads down the narrow track.
We watch him disappear around the first bend. Then silence. Thick. Suffocating.
I turn to her.
She’s pale—ghost pale—but her eyes are dry. Fierce. “He’s coming,” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
“For me.”
“For the drive.” I step closer, cupping her face. “But he’s not getting either.”
Her hands come up—cold fingers curling around my wrists. “Beck… if he gets past you?—”
“He won’t.”
“If he does—” Her voice breaks. “Promise me you’ll run. Take the truck. Get out. Live.”
The words hit like a blade between the ribs.
I stare at her. Hard. “No.”
“Beck—”
“No.” I pull her against me—hard, sudden—until she’s flush to my chest. “I don’t run. Not from this. Not from him. Not from you. You think I’d leave you here alone? You think I could live with that?”
She shakes her head against my coat. “I can’t live with you dying for me.”
“Then don’t make me.” I tilt her chin up, and force her to meet my eyes. “We end this. Together. Like we promised. And then we come home. To our life. To the mornings. To the stupid coffee fights. To forever.”
Tears spill over now—silent, fast. I kiss them away. One by one. Then I kiss her mouth—deep, desperate, tasting salt and fear and the fierce, unbreakable thing between us.
When I pull back, my voice is rough. “Go inside. Lock the door. Stay away from the windows. I’ll be right behind you.”
She doesn’t move at first. Then she nods. Small. Brave.
I watch her walk inside—slow, deliberate—door closing with a soft click. I wait until I hear the deadbolt slide home.
Then I shoulder the rifle. Check the magazine. Check the spare. Check the perimeter—tracks in the snow, fresh breaks in the tree line, the faint glint of something black moving through the pines half a mile down.
He’s here. Early. My pulse slows. Steadies. I step off the porch. Snow crunches under my boots. Wind carries the distant growl of an engine climbing the pass.
