Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 35133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
A branch snaps, loud and close.
Her breath catches, and her hand brushes my arm on instinct before she pulls it back like she didn’t mean to. Too late. I felt it.
“Someone’s out there,” I say.
Her voice drops. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.”
The silence that follows is tight, charged.
“What do we do?” she asks.
I turn to face her, closing the distance until there’s no space left between us.
“Nothing.”
Her eyes widen. “Nothing?”
“We stay inside.”
“That’s your plan?”
“It’s the only one that keeps you safe.”
Her jaw tightens. “You said you’d find him.”
“I will.”
“Then why are we just standing here?”
“Because he wants you to panic.”
She exhales sharply. “I’m not panicking.”
I step closer, boxing her in without touching her.
“Your heart says otherwise.”
Her breath stutters. “Get out of my space.”
“Make me.”
The words come out low, rough, before I can stop them.
Her eyes flash, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t push me away. Doesn’t step back. She just stands there, looking up at me like she’s deciding something that could go very wrong for both of us.
“You always this bossy?” she asks.
“Only when I’m right.”
“About what?”
I let my gaze drop, slow and deliberate, to her mouth, then back up.
“This.”
Her breath catches again, and this time she doesn’t try to hide it.
Outside, the wind howls as the storm rolls in, something unseen moving in the trees beyond the glass. But in here, in this moment, none of that matters.
Right now, the only thing I’m focused on is her.
Chapter 7
Maddie
Cold air fills my lungs the second I step outside the next morning, sharp and clean in a way that should feel refreshing but doesn’t. The quiet hits me just as hard, not peaceful like it usually is in Devil’s Peak, but heavy, like the mountain is holding its breath and watching. I pull my jacket tighter around me and scan the tree line out of instinct now, my gaze moving slowly, deliberately, searching for anything out of place. Every shadow feels thicker than it should. Every shift of wind feels like it means something.
Ethan steps out behind me, his boots crunching against the frost-dusted ground, the sound louder than it should be in the stillness. “You always look at the trees like they’re about to bite?” he asks.
“Only when someone might be hiding in them.”
There’s a beat of silence before he answers, and when he does, his voice is calm in a way that doesn’t help. “Good.”
I glance over my shoulder at him, narrowing my eyes. “That wasn’t comforting.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
Of course it isn’t.
He moves past me, already focused, already scanning the ground like he’s reading a language I don’t understand, his attention sharp and unwavering. “Stay close,” he says.
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to act like prey.”
His mouth curves just slightly, but he doesn’t look up. “There’s a difference between being smart and being reckless.”
“I’m still figuring out which one you think I am.”
“I know exactly what you are.”
That stops me. I turn toward him, my brows pulling together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He finally looks up, his eyes locking on mine in a way that feels too direct, too knowing. “Trouble.”
Heat flares in my chest, irritation mixing with something else I don’t want to name. “Funny,” I mutter. “I was thinking the same about you.”
“Then we’re on the same page.”
He turns away again and crouches near the edge of the clearing. “Come here.”
I hesitate for just a second before moving toward him, my boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. He doesn’t look back, but I can feel it, that awareness of me closing the distance, like he registers every step even without seeing it.
When I reach him, I stop just behind his shoulder. “What am I looking at?” I ask.
He gestures toward the ground. “Footprints.”
At first, I don’t see anything. I squint, adjusting my focus, and then they appear, faint impressions pressed into the dirt, too distinct to be anything natural.
Not mine. Not his.
My stomach tightens. “I didn’t see those yesterday.”
“You weren’t looking for them.”
“I was,” I push back.
He glances up at me, one brow lifting slightly. “You were looking to confirm you were safe.”
My jaw tightens.
“And you’re not,” he adds.
I crouch beside him, closer than I probably should be, close enough that I can feel the heat of him even in the cold air. “Those could be old,” I say.
“They’re not.”
“How do you know?”
He shifts slightly and points. “The edges are still clean. No weathering. Nothing settled in them yet.”
I lean closer, studying the prints. He’s right.
“When?” I ask.
“Last night.”
A chill moves down my spine. I was inside. Sleeping, or trying to, while someone was out here.
Watching.
“Keep looking,” Ethan says.
I drag my gaze away from the footprints and force myself to scan the surrounding area the way he does, slow and intentional. At first, it’s just trees and shadows and branches, but then something catches my eye, a break in the pattern that shouldn’t be there.