"Tessa!" I bellowed, my deep voice booming, fighting the recording. "Tessa, we're here!"
Empty.
The living room was empty. The fire we had built lay in cold ash. Daniel’s shirt lay on the floor, abandoned.
"She’s not here," Simon gasped, spinning in a circle, his dark eyes wide and frantic. "Check the bedroom!"
"No," I said, scanning the room. My eyes landed on the kitchen.
Traces of chaos. A stool knocked over. A splatter of white powder near the sink. Stabilizers? No, something thrown.
I tracked the scent.
The house smelled of brine and panic, sharp enough to burn my nose. But beneath that, there was a thread of fresh air. A draft.
I looked past the kitchen, past the dining table where we had eaten eggs and promised her a new ending.
The sliding glass door to the rear deck was open. The curtain billowed inward, snapping in the wind.
"The back," I said, already moving.
That door didn’t lead to a driveway. It didn't lead to safety. It led to the deer trail that wound down the cliff face toward the jagged rocks of the cove. It was a suicide run in this weather, slipping on wet mud and moss.
I sprinted across the room, my boots heavy on the hardwood. I hit the deck, the cold wind slapping my face, carrying salt spray and rain.
"Tessa!"
I saw her.
She was twenty yards down the path, struggling against the incline. She was wearing a pair of leggings and a thin, grey oversized hoodie that was swallowing her frame. She had a canvas tote bag slung over her shoulder, stuffed haphazardly. Her hair was a tangled disaster, whipping across her face.
She was running away from the house. Away from the noise. Away from us.
"Tessa, stop!"
She didn't stop. She scrambled over a slick root, nearly losing her footing, sliding on the mud. She caught herself on a pine branch, getting back up with a desperate, animalistic scramble.
I didn't run. If I ran, I was a predator chasing prey.
I strode. Fast, deliberate, covering ground with my long legs.
I caught up to her at the first switchback, where the trail narrowed between two massive spruce trees. I didn't grab her. I didn't reach out. I stepped around her, placing my massive body between her and the descent.
I blocked the path.
Tessa slammed into my chest. A softwhumpof impact.
She recoiled instantly, scrambling backward, losing her footing in the mud. She fell hard, landing on her hip, the canvas bag spilling its contents, a laptop, a hard drive, a handful of protein bars.
She looked up at me.
Her glasses were gone. Her eyes were wild, dilated, stripped of any recognition. She didn't see Daniel. She didn't see the man who had held her through the night.
She saw a monster.
"No!" she shrieked, scrambling backward in the dirt, kicking out at me. Mud smeared her legs. "Stay away! You got the shot! You got what you wanted!"
"Tessa," I said, keeping my hands visible, palms open. "It's me. It's Daniel."
