A cold wind rushes briefly into the cabin before the door shuts behind him. Silence crashes down immediately afterward.
I stare at the closed door for a long moment, then finally move toward the window. Outside, the storm has weakened to drifting rain and fog. Rhys stands near the edge of the porch, hands braced against the railing, head lowered slightly.
Alone. Not because he wants to be. Because he thinks he should be.
The realization settles quietly through me. I came here expecting a monster. Or at least a coward. A man who abandoned my brother and disappeared into the mountains to escape what he’d done.
Instead, I found someone carrying the weight of impossible choices as if they’re stitched directly into his bones. Someone who followed protocol… who tried to save his team. Someone who still wakes up every day wishing he’d made a different call.
My chest tightens painfully. Because I understand that feeling. War taught me something ugly a long time ago. That sometimes there isn’t a right choice. Only the one you live through.
Lightning flickers faintly beyond distant ridges now, muted and fading.
Rhys doesn’t move from the porch, and I realize suddenly that he’s waiting. And it’s not for the storm. It’s for me. For the moment, I decide what to do with the truth.
Whether I walk away or I expose him.
But now there’s another option I hadn’t felt before.
Whether I leave him.
The problem is, I already know I won’t. And that’s something I never expected.
I press my forehead lightly against the cold window glass and close my eyes. I can still feel his warm lips on my hand.
I came here for answers. Now I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with them.
Chapter
Nineteen
SLOANE
By morning, the storm vanishes from the mountains. The violence forgotten, though it leaves behind dripping pines, low fog, and a strange, fragile quiet that feels temporary in every way.
I wake on the floor alone. The sleeping bag still tucked around me. The fire burned down to embers. And Rhys nowhere inside the cabin.
For one disorienting second, panic flares through me. Then I see him through the window. Outside near the washout again.
Of course.
He stands at the edge with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, staring down toward the Jeep like stubbornness alone might pull it free.
The posture is familiar now. Rigid shoulders. Head slightly bowed. A man holding himself together through sheer force of habit.
I watch him for a long moment before pushing the blanket aside and standing. Everything inside me feels unsettled, like the earth beneath the mountain after a slide. Nothing where it used to be.
I step onto the porch. Cold air brushes my skin, threaded with pine and wet stone.
Rhys hears me but doesn’t look up at first. “You should go,” he says without turning around.
Instead of fighting him, I lean against the damp porch railing. “The Jeep’s still stuck.”
“That can be fixed.” His gaze fixes on me. “Now that you know, why stay any longer than you have to?”
My eyes narrow slightly. “You planning on carrying me down the mountain?”
“If necessary.” There’s enough seriousness beneath the dry response that I almost smile.
