I flinched at the first sound.
A sharp crack somewhere outside.
Probably just a branch, I told myself. Probably nothing.
But the silence after was heavier. Too heavy.
Another noise, faint but closer this time. A soft metallic rattle.
That couldn’t be right.
I stood slowly, grabbing the gun without thinking, my sweaty palm sliding against the grip. Every creak of the floor beneath my bare feet sounded like a scream in the quiet as I crept to the window, just enough to peek.
The trees looked still. Quiet. As they should be.
And then I saw it.
Movement where there shouldn’t have been any.
Shapes, half-hidden in the tree line. Human shapes. At least three, maybe more. No badges. No flashing lights. No ceremony.
Just dark silhouettes moving with slow, deliberate steps.
Hunting.
They were huntingme.
My body dropped into a crouch instinctively; my breath caught halfway in my chest.
Another sound.
Glass. Breaking.
I whipped around, heart hammering, scanning every pane I could see from here, nothing broken. No shatter.
Then another crash, this one from the far side of the cabin. Still no sign of broken glass.
Confusion churned in my gut, icy and sharp, until I smelled it.
Sharp. Oily.
Gasoline.
Followed almost immediately by the acrid bite of smoke.
Oh God.
They weren’t breaking in.
They were setting it on fire.
They wanted me out.
“Gray,” I whispered, voice shaking, spinning back toward the window. “Where the hell are you?”
I searched the tree line, desperate for anything, a shadow, a signal,him.
Nothing.
