Page 291 of The Professor's Wife

Tristan.

The scuffle was violent, chaotic. Oliver’s fists swung, Tristan grappled, the sound of bodies crashing against the counter filled the room. I stumbled back, bottom slamming into the floor, breath ragged.

“Tristan!” I shouted, voice breaking as Oliver fought with brutal force. Despite being hurt, Tristan fought back with desperation, fueled by something raw and unyielding.

Oliver fell back, his body slamming to the floor with Tristan over top of him. He growled and grunted, his body animalistic as he delivered punches across Oliver’s face. Blood sprayed. I saw blood on Tristan’s fist. On his face. Heard the pained grunts as he rained down violence on a fighting Oliver. Then, with a final blow, he slammed Oliver’s head against the floor.

A crack sounded in the air.

Oliver crumpled, unconscious.

Stunned, I stared at Oliver’s unmoving body. His chest still rose and fell, but he wasn’t fighting back. He wasn’t—

Tristan hurried to me, bloodied, chest heaving, eyes wild.

“Come on! We have to go.”

My legs were wobbly as he stood me up. I stared in horror at Oliver. At the blood pooling from his head. Tristan gathered my things. He gave me the stuffy and I cradled it to my chest, dazed and unfocused.

Together, we fled the house, Oliver’s chilling void of a face burned into my memory.

**

Tristan drove until the road blurred into darkness, until the house and Oliver’s shadow were hours behind us. Night fell when we pulled into a random campground. He cut the engine, and silence pressed in.

I sat curled in my seat, clutching Rowe’s dragon stuffy so tightly my knuckles ached. My body wouldn’t stop trembling. Every sound outside—the wind in the trees, the camper creaking as it settled—felt like him.

Oliver.

I kept seeing his face in the glass, blank and hollow, waiting.

Tristan drew the curtain across the window, then reached for me.

“He doesn’t know where we are tonight,” he said quietly. “We’ll be off the island by morning.”

I shook my head, staring at the floor. I couldn’t tell him that I didn’t believe him. In my head, Oliver had already found us.

He was here.

Tristan’s hand covered mine. His voice tugged me back into the camper.

“Listen to me. He’s hours away.”

My breath came shallow and uneven. Even if he was hours away, I didn’t feel freedom. I felt like I was waiting for him to reappear.

The feeling was familiar. Of thinking I might be safe and then finding out we’d been found. It was so vivid—so real.

Tristan leaned closer, his voice firm. “He’s got too much heat on him already. Like you said, the police are circling him over that student. We’ll make a report in the morning. Let them know about the cabin. And even if he comes looking, Daze, he has to find us first.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to let those words sink in, but Oliver’s voice echoed through my head.

You belong to me.

The memory crawled beneath my skin.

“I can’t stop hearing him,” I whispered. “I can’t stop seeing his face. It’s like he’s carved into me.”

I wished it would stop.