Page 36 of Sick(ness)

Addy rose halfway from her seat. “What is it? Do you see something?”

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes narrowing as the shadow paused. For a heartbeat, it almost looked as if it were standing upright. As if sensing his gaze, it slipped back into the darkness. Gone.

Sawyer lingered a moment longer, scanning the treeline. His reflection stared back at him: pale eyes, a set jaw, tension in every line of his face.

Finally, he turned back to her. “It was just a deer,” he said, voice steady, the faintest trace of reassurance threaded through it.

Addy frowned, searching his face for the truth. “You sure?”

He gave her a small, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Pretty sure. Probably came down for a drink.”

She exhaled and sat back down, clutching the mug between her palms. “You had me thinking it was one of those… sick ones.”

He didn’t respond, but walked over to the fire and threw another log on; the flames jumped higher with a crackle that filled the uneasy quiet.

Addy watched him, the orange glow flickering across his features, the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint scar near his temple. He was calm, composed, but his eyes kept drifting back toward the window.

“You don’t think it followed us, do you?” she asked quietly.

Sawyer poked at the fire with a stick, the wood hissing. “No,” he said after a beat. “Nothing followed us.”

But his tone had changed — lower, quieter, as if he didn’t want to disturb something listening outside. He moved to the door, checked the lock again, and nudged the heavy chest tighter against it.

Addy tried to relax, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders. The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.

Outside, the night had gone completely still. No crickets. No wind. Not even the lapping of the lake.

“Deer, huh?” she said softly, her voice carrying a tremor she couldn’t quite hide.

Sawyer met her eyes from across the room, the rifle now leaning against his leg. “Yeah,” he said again, holding her gaze for a long moment. Then, quieter, so soft she almost didn’t hear him, “Let’s hope that’s all it was.”

The cabin settled into silence, the fire crackling being the only sound. But somewhere out near the lake, beyond the reach of the moonlight, something moved again, slower this time, deliberate, before disappearing into the trees.

* * *

Addy watched him through the flickering firelight, the orange glow tracing along his jaw, softening the sharpness that usually lived there. He looked almost peaceful—almost. But there was something about Sawyer that never fully relaxed. Even sitting by the fire, boots off, shoulders loose, his eyes still carried that quiet alertness of a man who never truly stopped scanning for danger.

She’d wondered about him since the day they met. The way he moved, the calm way he handled chaos, it wasn’t luck. It was training. Experience. And it gnawed at her curiosity until she couldn’t hold back any longer.

“So,” she started, trying to sound casual, “what exactly did you do in the military?”

He glanced up, the faintest lift of a brow. “You really want to know that?”

She smiled, raising two fingers in mock solemnity. “Swear on my honor as a former Brownie Scout. I won’t tell a soul.”

That actually got a small laugh out of him—low, genuine, quick. “Somehow, I doubt you were the merit badge type.”

“Excuse me,” she teased. “I earned at least three. One of which involved not setting a tent on fire. So, I’m basically elite.”

He shook his head, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told,” she said, smirking. “Now stop dodging.”

He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting to the fire. For a moment, the only sound was the quiet hiss and pop of the logs. His voice came low and deliberate. “I started out in the Navy. Special operations. After a few years, I moved over to a contracting unit, government-run but not officially part of the military. We handled… operations the military wasn’t sanctioned to do.”

Addy blinked, watching him carefully. “You mean black ops.”

He hesitated long enough for her to know she’d hit the mark. “Something like that.”