Silence.
Then I hear it—her breath, shakier now. “Okay.”
I turn away, take two steps toward the couch, and the sound hits.
Metal against wood.
Not inside the cabin.
Outside.
The back door. The frame. A scrape that shouldn’t exist in a storm.
Every muscle in my body locks.
My hand goes to the gun before I’m fully conscious of moving.
I stand perfectly still, listening.
The wind howls.
And then it comes again.
A careful, deliberateclink—like someone testing the lock.
Chapter 7
Ellie
Wade comes through Wyatt’s front door like he’s been living off trail mix and pure attitude for fourteen days.
His pack hits the floor with a heavy thud, snow dusting off his boots, beard thicker, hair wild, cheeks wind-burned like the mountain chewed on him and spit him back out. He takes one step into the cabin, then freezes like he’s hit an invisible wall.
His eyes sweep the room—me in the kitchen, Wyatt at the table—and his face does something between confusion and betrayal.
“Why are you—” Wade’s gaze drops to my hand.
The ring.
Then it snaps to Wyatt’s hand.
Then back to my face, like he’s hoping I’ll laugh and tell him it’s a prank.
“No,” he says, flat and horrified. “No.”
I set the knife down slowly because the last thing I need is a blade in my hand when my brother looks like he’s about to lose his mind.
“Hi, Wade,” I say.
Wyatt doesn’t flinch. He just lifts his coffee mug like this is a normal Tuesday and Wade didn’t just walk in on a plot twist.
“Welcome back,” Wyatt says.
Wade stares at him like he’s seeing a ghost. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
Wyatt takes a slow sip. “Depends what you think it is.”
Wade’s eyes widen. “Oh my God.”
