Traps. Lots of hunting traps.
A shiver climbs my spine before I can explain it. Everything here is what I expected. Nothing out of place. But it all feels so forlorn. So final.
It’s more than survival or punishment. It’s control.
What I don’t find shocks me more than what I do. No truck or off-roading vehicle, just an ATV and a snowmobile. It’s not surprising. Many people get around that way up here. But it fees like he’s not planning on leaving.
A shallow, brick-lined storm cellar behind the cabin leads down into a modest, dry space where he stores pelts. My fingers run across the soft fur of a bobcat. Why the rain didn’t bleed through here, I don’t know. But the ground is higher, out of the path of washouts.
Never thought Phoenix’s commanding officer would be a… I don’t even know what to call him.
A hermit? A recluse?
A mountain man?
In town, they said he guides hunters in the fall. They probably pay him well enough to disappear comfortably. Surrounded by posh mountain towns—Telluride, Ouray, Durango.
Still, it seems like an unnecessarily hard life. Not that I care. Not that it matters.
When I feel eyes on me from some distant location, I head back inside. I sit in a corner, jotting down observations and notes in my journal. Nothing earth-shattering.
Just the character study I’m developing on him.
Obdurate. Cold. Calculated.
I startle slightly when Rhys enters, the cabin’s shadows growing long in the waning afternoon light. He eyes mesuspiciously. His energy feels different now. More controlled. Quieter. Far more guarded.
He lights a kerosene lamp. The air fills with the pungent smell of oil. I can’t believe it. I feel transported to another time. Rustic. Removed from reality.
Escapism.
That’s what this is.
“Find what you were looking for?” he asks, clearing his throat.
“Research,” I answer with a frown, tapping my pen against my bottom lip.
His gaze drops for one moment, just a second too long. The air thickens. He runs a hand over his beard, eyes locked on my face. “Your eyes are a problem. You have his eyes.”
“I know.”
He leans against the wall, sliding to the ground, still watching me. “Same color. Same fire. But less jaded.”
“Less jaded?” I arch an eyebrow. “I don’t know how that can be.”
“It is.”
The room goes quiet. Too quiet.
“Your reports…” I look away, staring at the wall, then back at him. I have to gauge his reaction. “…were sanitized.”
“They were accepted.”
My laugh is strained. “You and I both know that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Don’t speak for me.”
“Fair enough.”
