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A pleasant shiver ripples down my spine.

“Goddammit, Jimmity.” I hug the goose closer. “We’re not playing those games anymore.”

Antonio’s presence should be the exact reminder of why. Dangerous men only ever think about themselves, and expecting anything else is ridiculous. It all starts the same. With the interest, the intensity, the surface-level danger that draws me in. I love the high that comes with winning over a powerful man, and in Wayward, Antonio was it.

I knew he was rough and probably did bad things, but those “bad things” were all an abstract concept to me. Until they weren’t.

I need to be better. It’s why I left in the first place.

“Okay,” I tell the darkness. “Tomorrow, I’m going to ask Wilde to work with Booker instead of Lynx.” It’s a step up, at least. He still makes me curious where I shouldn’t be, but the difference between someone like him and someone like Lynx and Antonio is that I’m not scared of Booker. I just think he’s a mess.

A teeny, tiny fraction of my anxiety lessens, and slowly, my eyes drift closed and stay there this time. I force breathing exercises, determined to get some actual sleep tonight, but just when my muscles unlock and I hit that dreamy space right before sleep—I hear it.

My eyes fly open toward the wall beside my bed, where I could have sworn I heard a footstep outside. There was a definite crunch of leaves or dirt underfoot, and I strain to hear more, but the harder I listen, the louder the heartbeat gets in my ears.

“I was dreaming,” I tell Jimmity.

It’s no surprise that I’m so permanently on edge up here. I watched scary movies as a kid. I know that a tiny little cabin in the woods and no cell service are how all these plots start. I’d say that it’s a comfort having Queenie right next door, but I trust her to come to my rescue as much as anyone else in Wilde’s End.

Which is not at all.

I’m on my own out here.

I’ve almost got myself convinced that I’m hearing things when the sound comes again. Then again.

There’s definitely something out there.

Highest chance is that it’s an animal passing by. This is the middle of nowhere, after all. But if Antonio and Jeffrey have come back?

I’d like to think I’m being dramatic by saying they’ll kill me if they find me, but considering the thing that had me stuff as much shit into my car as possible and hightail it out of Wayward within the hour was overhearing Antonio say, “I’m going to fucking kill him!” doesn’t fill me with hope.

The sound comes again, and I know I have two choices. Stay frozen and best case spend another sleepless night here but worst case be sitting prey, or get my ass up and go look.

It’ll be an animal. I know it will.

Even with that conviction, I don’t move.

WWLD?

What would Lynx do?

He definitely wouldn’t lie here and wait for them to come to him. He wouldn’t waste time being scared. Hell, he’s probably got some kind of secret escape hatch that he can drop through and sneak up on any intruders.

Lynx would have thought of this before it became an issue.

My hands are shaking as I throw off the blanket and force myself out of bed. I check the window first, half-hidden behind it, and stare out into the layers and layers of tree trunks that disappear into the darkness.

It has to be an animal. There’s no way a person would be able to see where they’re going out there.

That at least gives me the confidence to sneak toward the door and unlock it. Then I have to remind myself again before I’m able to pull it open a crack.

My heart is in my fucking throat as I squint through the tiny gap, waiting for any sign of movement. Any furry little creature to make my pulse stop racing enough for me to go to bed.

My breathing has gotten stilted, like if I do it as silently and shallowly as possible, no one will know I’m here. But the longer I go on looking, the more convinced I am that I was hearing things. After five minutes of absolutely no movement, I ease the door open a bit wider.

Filtered strips of moonlight struggle to reach the ground, and Queenie’s cabin is half-obscured by the haze around us. Everything is eerily still, and I manage to take one stiff step out onto the front porch. Jimmity is still being strangled in my arm, and maybe I should have grabbed a weapon instead, but I’m convinced I’m being paranoid.

Until I spot the two pinpricks of light. Glowing eyes.