“Thanks,” she replies, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I appreciate your help with this.”
“We should get some rest,” I manage, trying to break the tension between us. “Big day tomorrow.” The words feel forced, like I'm trying to put space between us before I let this go any further.
Eliza stays seated for a moment, as if lost in thought. When she stands, I rise with her. She pauses, turning to face me, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder.
“Thank you,” she says. “Not only for the books, but for ... for being here.”
I open my mouth to say something, but she's already gone, the bedroom door closing softly behind her. I'm left alone with the crackling fire and the awareness that, for the first time in months, my thoughts aren’t consumed by the ghosts of my past.
A faint rumble in the distance pulls me from my slumber. I wake up on the couch, the blanket still draped over me. I've only slept a short time when the sound reaches me. My eyes snap open, and a prickling tension spreads through me—an instinctive sense that something's wrong.
I rush to the window, peering out into the darkness. The moonlight reflects off the snow, and that's when I see it—a slight movement high on the slope. Years of working in treacherous conditions have honed my instincts, and right now, they're screaming danger.
“No, no, no,” I say.
“Eliza!” I shout, already moving toward the bedroom. Fear grips me, not for myself, but for her. “We have to get out of here now!”
