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I don’t turn around to look at him. My reflection stares back from the dark glass: swollen eyes, trembling mouth, a ghost pressing against a cage of trees.

“I looked at your laptop,” he says softly. Almost tender.

My stomach hollows. My fingers shake, and I force them still by carving half-moons into my palms with my nails to anchor myself.

“You left it open,” he continues, wandering closer with a conversational ease. “Shelters. Bus schedules. And my personal favorite…‘how to disappear from an abusive husband.’”

He said the words like he was savoring each one. Like he wanted them etched into me.

David stops behind me, so close the heat from his body touches the back of my neck. His shadow swallows mine completely in the reflection. “What kind of wife,” he murmurs, “plans to run from the man who keeps her safe?”

His hand settles on the back of my neck, and his thumb strokes my skin almost lovingly for a second.

“Ahh,” I gasp, as he wrenches my head back, the sharp edge of the window seat digging into my spine. I have no choice but to look up at him and see how his eyes are nearly black in the dim light. Like the bottom of a well you can fall into and never hit ground.

His gaze drops to my face, tracking the tear that slipped free. The smile that touches his mouth is small and cruel…intimate. “You belong to me.”

He leans in until his breath warms my cheek and his lips brush my ear like a secret.

“Run,” he whispers in a voice terrifying enough to stick to my ribs. “And I’ll drag you home by your hair. I’ll make sure you never walk far enough to try again.”

I blinked hard, and Boston dissolved, Montana snapping back into place.

I was sitting on a log at the overlook, my fingers curled so tight into the damp bark that moss clung beneath my nails. My pulse slammed through me like I’d run full-speed up the mountain instead of just…remembered.

I shut my eyes and drew a breath. Then another. Then a third, deeper one, trying to pull myself fully back into the present.

“He’s not here,” I whispered. “You’re all right.”

The past didn’t listen, but it loosened its grip enough for me to stand. I wiped at my cheeks and found them damp again. Great.

Trees: one. Emotional stability: zero.

I adjusted my backpack, took a deep breath, and stepped back onto the trail. Forward. Because the past only chased you if you stood still.

Or at least that’s what I was going to tell myself.

The twig snap was small, ordinary…a noise that happens a thousand times in any forest on any given day.

It still froze me in place.

It came from behind me, off to the left. It wasn’t loud, but it was obvious enough to cut through the muffled hush that had settled over the woods.

My body locked up, heart rushing ahead of me, while my brain helpfully supplied every possibility it could—bear, mountain lion, Bigfoot, a squirrel with dark plans.

A moose.

I turned, but the trail behind me was empty—just trees and shifting light filtering through the branches, dappling the dirt. No rustle, no sway, nothing to justify the cold prickles along my spine.

I waited, straining for any sound, but there was still nothing.

“Okay,” I told myself, forcing the words out. “It’s another squirrel. A very large, unsettling squirrel with a flair for dramatic timing.”

I forced myself forward, lengthening my stride.

Another sound whispered behind me. A soft rustle…barely there.

My pulse kicked hard, and I turned, quicker this time. But the woods sat unchanged. The same trees were crowding close, the same shadows were pooling between them, the same pinecones were scattered along the dirt.