“Then don’t give me orders.”
His gaze sharpens.
“You want to help?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Then you stay where I can see you.”
“I’m not?—”
“Or I take you back to the cabin and lock you inside.”
My pulse spikes. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
The challenge sits heavy between us.
I hold his gaze.
So does he.
And then?—
I exhale.
Sharp.
“Fine,” I mutter.
“Good.”
I hate that word.
I hate how easily it gets a reaction out of me.
But I don’t push again.
Not this time.
Because something tells me he’s not bluffing.
Because something tells me this isn’t the moment to test him.
He moves before I can say anything else, slipping through the trees like he’s part of them, silent and precise in a way that makes it clear this isn’t new to him.
This is what he does.
What heis.
I stay where I am.
Barely.
Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to follow, to not let him out of my sight, to not stand here alone in the dark where I already know someone else has been.
But I stay.
