He kisses my forehead, and then grabs his jacket and is out the door. The cabin door shuts with a heavy finality. And suddenly I’m alone.
Me and Aidan and the fire and the alarm still wailing faintly in the distance.
Aidan cries harder, his little fists jerking, his face scrunching up in that baby way that makes you want to cry too.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, rocking him. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”
But I don’t know that.
I walk to the window and peek out through the curtain just enough to see the snowy yard. The world looks normal. Too normal. White and quiet and soft like nothing bad could ever happen here.
That’s how danger works.
It doesn’t announce itself until it’s already inside.
Minutes drag. Or hours. Time stops being useful.
I lock the door. Check it twice. Then three times.
I hover near the safe room entrance Gavin showed me on day two—hidden behind a panel in the hallway, stocked with supplies and a second radio.
Haven 7 doesn’t do “maybe.”
It does prepared.
Aidan finally calms against my shoulder, hiccuping softly, and I press my cheek to his head.
“I’m scared,” I admit to him, because he can’t understand words, only tone. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” My voice trembles.
And I think of Sophie again—her hands gripping mine, her eyes wild, her voice shaking when she made me swear.
Run. Don’t trust anyone.
I trusted Gavin.
I still trust him.
But trust doesn’t mean I can survive secrets.
The door finally opens again, and Gavin steps in with snow on his shoulders and something hard in his eyes.
My breath releases like I’ve been holding it for a week.
He locks the door behind him, then turns and scans me and Aidan like he’s checking for wounds. “You’re okay,” he says, and it’s not a question.
I swallow, voice tight. “What happened?”
He hesitates.
And that hesitation is the last straw.
“No,” I say, standing up straighter with Aidan on my hip. “Don’t do that. Don’t look at me like you’re deciding how much I can handle. I’m not a child.”
His jaw clenches.
“I’m tired of being scared without knowing why,” I continue, the words spilling fast now. “I’m tired of being told to stay put while everyone else gets the truth. I’m tired of smiling and pretending I’m safe when I can feel something closing in.”
Gavin’s eyes flash—pain, anger, something possessive. “Kayley?—”
