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Her gaze lingered on the vehicle, its sheriff's star gleaming dully in the weak light. It was a silent sentinel.
"Rachel?" Ethan's hand brushed against her back, a ghost of pressure.
"Let's get this over with." The words tasted like ash, and she moved forward, each step a conscious effort. The wooden staircase creaked under their weight, voicing its own protest.
"Hey," he said softly, close enough that his breath stirred strands of hair at her nape. "We don't have to stay long."
Moths fluttered around the porch light, drawn to the brightness in a world of darkness. Rachel watched them beat against the bulb, relentless, suicidal. It struck her, the absurdity of it all—how life pushed you toward the very things that could destroy you.
"Long enough to eat," she conceded, her voice barely above a whisper. It was an inevitability... she couldn't avoid her aunt. She knew it... as much as she wanted to convince herself otherwise... her aunt was the only family she had.
Ethan gave a small nod, a silent pact between them. She reached out, her knuckles rapping against the door, the sound hollow against the vastness of the night. Inside, she could already imagine the scent of game stew, the warmth of the hearth. A tableau of comfort, undercut by the tension that thrummed through her veins.
"Let's hope it's just dinner," she thought, steeling herself for whatever lay ahead.
She hesitated, though. No one answered the door.
She frowned now.
The sharp crack of a branch snapped Rachel's attention away from the door's yawning mouth. Ethan's hand hovered mid-knock, suspended in the chill air. She pivoted on her heel, eyes slicing through the darkness toward the dense thicket skirting the back of Aunt Sarah's property.
"Did you hear that?" Her voice was tight, a whisper against the night's stillness.
Ethan's brow furrowed. "Probably just an animal."
"Maybe." But Rachel's gut churned with a different instinct. She edged past the jagged silhouette of firewood stacked methodically against the cabin's side, her boots sinking into the soft earth.
"Rachel?" Ethan's query trailed after her like a shadow.
"I need to check," she threw over her shoulder, pulse ticking up as she rounded the corner.
The backyard unfurled before her, bathed in the silver wash of moonlight. And there, a tableau etched in shades of gray—Aunt Sarah, her form hunched and deliberate, working over a fallen deer with hands that knew every sinew and bone.
"Evening, Rachel," Sheriff Dawes' gravelly voice cut across the distance without warmth as he leaned against the shed, the ember of his cigarette a pinpoint of heat in the cool air.
"Evening, Sheriff," she replied, the words brittle.
Her aunt didn't pause, didn't look up, the knife in her grip dancing a grim waltz across the deer's hide. Sheriff Dawes exhaled a plume of smoke, watching Rachel with eyes that missed nothing—an ever-vigilant sentinel, even here, outside the jurisdiction of his badge.
"Something wrong?" Dawes asked, the question carrying an undercurrent of challenge.
"Thought I heard something," Rachel said, her gaze not leaving Aunt Sarah's rhythmic movements. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the earthy aroma of pine needles—a scent that evoked memories Rachel had tried to scrub clean from her mind.
"Nature's noisy," Dawes remarked, almost casual.
"Helps to have steady hands," Aunt Sarah finally spoke, voice devoid of inflection, as if commenting on the weather rather than the life she stripped away.
Rachel felt the cool night air wrap around her as she approached Aunt Sarah, whose gnarled fingers remained steady, unperturbed by their presence. The nod she offered was curt, a mere acknowledgment devoid of warmth. Beside her, Sheriff Dawes leaned against the rugged bark of a pine tree, his gaze sharp and assessing.
"Evening, Sarah," Rachel ventured, her voice soft against the backdrop of the encroaching wilderness.
Aunt Sarah's eyes flicked upward, piercing. She didn't respond, turning instead to regard Ethan, who stood slightly behind Rachel. Silence stretched between them, heavy and expectant.
"Who's this?" the native woman finally asked, her tone flat, eyes narrowing at Ethan's complexion.
Ethan stepped forward, the gravel crunching under his boots. "Ethan Morgan."
"Let's see if you're useless," she stated, more an injunction than a question, her scrutiny unwavering.
