Chapter 1
1
Jade
“ D on’t say a fucking word!”
The metallic scent of blood fills my nostrils as I try to swallow back the bile rising in my throat.
“I won’t, I swear, I never saw anything.”
The fear runs through me like wildfire as I stare at the body less than ten feet from where I stand.
“I mean it. I’ll kill everyone you love.”
I shake my head vigorously. “I know. I know. I swear, I won’t say a word. Ever.”
“Earth to Jade. Where did you go?”
I jump in place as my best friend’s voice pulls me back to the present. The smell of blood is replaced by the smells of fresh pine and the faintest trace of cedar smoke from the fireplace.
I’m home.
I’m not there.
I’m safe.
My furniture is sparse. Most of it came with the place, but now it’s mine. I never thought I’d call a mountain cabin home, but here I am, standing in my kitchen as morning light spills over the countertops. It’s quiet out here, the kind of quiet that feels alive with whispers of wind through the trees and the occasional crack of a distant branch under some animal’s weight.
This is home now. Not the place my nightmares keep taking me back to.
It’s a stark contrast to where I grew up. Back in LA, silence wasn’t peaceful. It usually meant danger was coming. Like a calm before the storm. Silence was a warning, a message that everyone with good sense was already hunkered down. Sometimes it meant a standoff between gangs, a clear sign to stay inside and take cover from the bullets that would eventually start flying.
Sometimes, silence meant that the danger was just recently passed, but close enough to still cause harm. A drive-by shooter who was still at large, a stabbing victim bleeding out, waiting for someone to come and save him. I spent my whole life learning to read those silences, to know when to duck, when to run, and when to fight. Even now, I fight the urge to dive behind the couch and cover my ears.
Silence isn’t a warning here, though. It’s just a way of life. Even in the hustle and bustle of the diner where I used to work, there was a quiet stillness, a sense of peace. Here, everyone knows everyone, or at least they know enough about each other to know when to leave well enough alone.
I brush my fingers over the edge of the marble counter, taking a deep breath to ground myself. Here, silence isn’t a prelude to chaos or the aftermath of extreme violence. Sometimes, it even feels peaceful. I can almost let myself believe that I’m safe, that no one knows where I am, that no one is coming for me.
Almost.
The air inside the cabin is chilly but starting to warm a bit with the heater just kicking back to life. From what the realtor told me, the place has sat mostly abandoned for years. It’s a shame because it’s a gorgeous home, teeming with antique history in every corner. Double-paned windows look out over the expanse of the snowy mountains, but the mixture of stonework and logs make the place feel homey and warm. It isn’t big by any means, just a single bedroom, a bathroom, small kitchen, and a spacious living area, but it’s mine.
Compared to my apartment back in LA, the cabin is like a fairytale castle. My old apartment was as tiny as a shoebox, and just as stiff. Dirty, smelly air filtered in from other apartments, leaving my living room constantly smelling of weed or stale cigarettes. My bedroom barely fit a twin bed, and my kitchen? Well, calling it a kitchen was generous. It was more of a corner with a stove the size of an Easy Bake Oven and a leaky sink that only ran extremely hot or extremely cold, no in between.
But the worst part wasn’t the size or the heat or even the roaches that skittered across the floor at night. It was the noise. Sirens wailing at all hours, neighbors shouting, the blaring of music that seeped through the thin walls. It was constant, unrelenting, a cacophonous lullaby for the damned. There was no peace, no quiet, no space to think. And, like I said, if silence ever did come, it wasn’t the relaxing kind.
My mom used to say that LA had a rhythm, a pulse you could feel in your bones. She’d grown up there too, had learned to dance to its beat. She taught me to dance to it, too, but I never quite got the steps right, often tripping and falling over myself. It was a city that never stopped moving, never stopped pushing. It was exciting when I was a kid, magical even. But as I got older, the magic wore off, and I started to realize that it was overwhelming and not always in a good way.
My heart pangs as I think of my mom. It’s been years since I’ve spoken to her. We were so close and able to depend on each other, but sadly it’s not safe for her to know where I am now. Knowledge, like silence, is dangerous. She’s much better off thinking I’m dead, even if it kills me to hurt her like that.
I lean against the counter, staring out the window, and sigh wistfully. Snow is starting to fall, soft and slow, blanketing the trees in white. It’s beautiful and peaceful in a way I’m still not used to.
In the nearly two years I’ve been in Colorado, I’ve gotten very used to the constant stream of snow in the winter. The first time we got a big snow, I felt like a child. I went out into what I later learned was a bad storm, turning my face up to the sky and letting it envelop me. When it settled on the ground in huge piles, I was giddy. I stomped around, relishing the way it crunched under my boots. I picked up handfuls of it, throwing it up in the air and watching it fall back to the ground. I made snow angels and a lopsided snowman.
Ron, my boss, had made fun of me, of course, but I think it endeared him to me. Or maybe he just thought I was a little slow, and that’s why he gave me such a cheap deal when he rented me the little apartment above the hardware store. Thankfully, he realized quickly that I’m much smarter than he originally thought. That’s why he basically lets me run the store now.
“Are you gonna stare out that window all day, or are you actually gonna make coffee?” Tawny’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts once more. I turn to see her leaning against the doorway, her blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She’s wearing a hoodie that’s too big for her and a pair of leggings that look like they’ve seen better days.
“I was getting to it,” I say, rolling my eyes but smiling.
Tawny’s been my one constant in this town, the first person who didn’t make me feel like a stranger. We’ve been nearly inseparable since the first shift I had at the diner, but I have to admit that our friendship only improved when I finally got to quit that job and work at Ron’s hardware store. She’s always got some quip ready, and I’ve learned to appreciate her bluntness.
“Uh-huh.” She moves past me, grabbing the coffee pot like she owns the place. “Let me guess. You were having a moment. Thinking about how this cabin is your sanctuary, or whatever. You’re so predictable, Jade.”
I laugh, but she’s not wrong, of course. She may not know everything about my past, but she knows me better than anyone else in this small town.
“Well, it is my sanctuary,” I argue, sticking my tongue out at her. “It’s a lot nicer than the apartment above the hardware store.”
She snorts, remembering how we barely fit in that tiny place. Any time we wanted to have a girl’s night, her house was the obvious choice.
“That place was a glorified attic,” she teases. “How did you even survive there?”
“It was still better than LA,” I say, before I can stop myself.
Tawny knows I moved here from California, and I’m sure she suspects it was under less than pleasant circumstances but I’m not ready to talk about it yet. I’ve only just stopped looking over my shoulder every time I step out the front door. As much as I love Tawny, I can’t bring myself to tell her the truth. In fact, it’s because I love her that I don’t want to burden her with my secret. If my past did catch up to me, she’d be in danger too.
As always, she doesn’t press me, just fills the pot with water and starts the coffee.
“Fair enough,” she says. “But seriously, this cabin? Way better. I mean, you’ve got actual space now. Look at this kitchen! I’m jealous.”
“It’s not that great,” I say, though I can’t hide the pride in my voice. “But yeah, it’s a big step up.”
The truth is, this cabin feels like a lifeline. When I left LA, I didn’t think I would ever find a place that felt like home again. I spent a lot of time just driving, putting as much space between myself and that godforsaken place as possible. I might have kept driving, but something about this town seeped into my bones when I stopped for gas and a hot meal. Two years later, I’ve actually put down roots. The anxiety that I brought to Colorado obviously wasn’t all gone from my bones, but at least I could breathe a little.
I glance around the room now, taking in the warm light from the fireplace and the wide windows that let in the vast expanses of trees and snow. It’s a world away from everything I’ve ever known, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful for anything in my life.
“Do you ever miss it?” Tawny asks suddenly, breaking the silence.
“Miss what?” I ask, even though I already know what she means.
“LA,” she says. “The city, the people, the—”
“No,” I cut her off, my voice sharper than I intended. I see the surprise on her face and quickly soften my tone. “I mean, no, I don’t miss it. Not at all. This is where I belong now.”
Tawny studies me for a moment, then nods. “Fair enough. I guess I can’t blame you. This place does have its charms, even if it’s a little too boring for me sometimes.”
“It’s not for everyone,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “But it’s perfect for me.”
She glances at the clock on the wall and sighs. “I should probably get back to town. The diner’s not gonna run itself.”
I smirk. “You sound thrilled.”
“Oh, absolutely,” she says with mock enthusiasm. “Can’t wait to spend my morning refilling coffee cups and pretending to care about Mr. Thompson’s bunions.”
I laugh. “Hey, at least it’s a living,” I tease her with the phrase we used to throw around whenever we had a particularly difficult shift.
Tawny rolls her eyes. “Barely. But, yeah, at least it’s living.”
She stands and grabs her coat, pulling it on with a dramatic flourish. “You need a ride back to town, or are you good up here?”
“I’m good,” I say, walking her to the door. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”
She nods, though I can see the doubt in her eyes. “All right. But you know where to find me if you change your mind.”
“Thanks,” I say, meaning it. “I’ll see you later.”
She waves as she heads down the steps and toward her car, her breath visible in the cold morning air. I watch until she’s gone, then close the door and lean against it, letting out a long sigh.
This cabin is my sanctuary, but it’s also my shield. A barrier between me and the world I left behind. A place where silence is freedom.
It is also fleeting. Not ten seconds later, there’s a sharp rap at the door, and I roll my eyes when I see Tawny standing there, her hands planted on her hips.
“I just heard a storm’s coming through, and this place isn’t remotely ready for it. Come on.”
She grabs my hand and pulls me out of the house, barely giving me time to lock the door before we’re speeding down the mountain, into the town below.