Chapter 3
Hale
She follows me.
Silent footsteps behind mine, light and hesitant. Like a fawn that hasn’t decided if the wolf leading her deeper into the woods is friend or predator.
She’s right to wonder.
The trail is narrow and steep in places, the kind that disappears from maps. I keep it that way. Hidden. Remote. The trees here grow tall and thick, pressing close like a wall. No drones, no satellites, no curious hikers. Only quiet. Only me.
And now her.
I shouldn’t have let it go this far. Should’ve stayed in the shadows like always. Watching, not touching. Protecting, not claiming. That was the deal. That was the promise I made to her father with his blood on my hands and his breath fading fast.
Look after her, Hale. Keep her safe. She’s all I got left.
I’ve kept my word.
But I didn’t know, then, how hard it would be.
How hard she would make it.
Wren was just a teenager when I first saw her.
Skinny knees and loud music and no idea how close she came to danger.
I kept my distance. Followed her through the worst years, the wild years.
Boyfriends. Parties. That internship downtown where someone followed her home—until I stepped in, silent and unseen. He never did it again.
I was a ghost to her. A shadow.
But now she’s not a girl anymore.
She’s twenty-four. Strong. Stubborn. Scared in all the right ways.
And fuck me, she’s beautiful.
That mouth. Those eyes. The way her hair always looks like it was made to be gripped in someone’s fist.
I shouldn’t notice. I shouldn’t want.
But I do.
Christ, I do.
She doesn’t speak as we hike. Just breathes quietly behind me, her gaze flicking left and right like she’s expecting something to jump out at her. She's got her hand near the waistband of her jeans. The gun. Probably loaded now. Probably pointed at my back in her mind a hundred times already.
Good.
She should be careful. I’m not a good man. I never was.
My cabin appears after an hour—camouflaged, low to the ground, tucked into the base of a ridge. You wouldn’t know it was there unless you were looking. Steel frame, wood siding, security glass. Solar backup. Buried satellite link. No connection to anything unless I want it.
I key in the passcode on the reinforced door and push it open. “Go in,” I say, stepping aside.
Wren hesitates. Then crosses the threshold.
She moves slow, eyes scanning. It's clean. Bare. Spartan. Wood stove. Hand-built furniture. Weapons tucked out of sight, but close enough to reach. One bed. No couch.
She notices.
Her brow lifts slightly, but she doesn’t comment.
I shut the door and bolt it behind us. The sound echoes.
“You live here?” she asks, voice quiet.
I nod. “For now.”
She sets her pack on the floor but doesn’t sit.
“How far are we from town?”
“Far enough they won’t find you.”
“And if they do?”
I meet her eyes. “They won’t leave.”
She flinches slightly at that. But I see something else flash across her face too. Relief.
“I need to know what you saw,” I say, crossing the room.
Her lips press into a line. “Do you already know?”
“I know who he is. I know what he’s into. But I don’t know what’s on that SD card. Not exactly.”
She watches me carefully. “You gonna take it from me?”
“No.” I pause. “I already took something from you the moment I let you see me. I won’t take more.”
Silence. Heavy.
She finally lowers herself onto the edge of the bed. Her shoulders sag.
“I didn’t mean to get involved,” she says, voice small. “I didn’t go looking for it. I just… found it.”
“And now they’ll burn the world to get it back.”
She nods. “That’s why I ran.”
I step into the kitchen, grab a bottle of water, and toss it to her. She catches it on reflex. Her fingers are trembling.
“Eat,” I say. “There’s food in the cabinets. Soup, jerky, canned stuff. I’ll hunt tomorrow.”
Wren doesn’t answer. Just opens the bottle and drinks deep.
Her throat moves as she swallows. My eyes track it without meaning to.
Damn it.
I turn away before the thoughts hit too hard.
She’s not mine to want.
But that doesn’t stop the wanting.
The fire inside me isn’t new. I’ve managed it for years. But now she’s here. In my space. In my bed. And there’s no longer a screen, a fence, or a forest between us.
That distance was the only thing keeping me sane.
Now?
Now I hear the soft drag of her feet as she walks barefoot across the floor. I smell her shampoo. I can almost feel the warmth of her skin when she brushes past me to reach the stove.
“How long do I stay here?” she asks without turning around.
“Until it’s safe.”
“Is that days? Weeks?”
I step closer, just enough to make her stiffen. “Could be longer.”
She finally looks at me. Her eyes narrow. “Are you planning to keep me here?”
“I’m planning to keep you alive.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I hold her gaze. “I don’t give you half-truths, Wren. If I wanted to keep you, really keep you, you’d already be chained to the bed.”
Her breath hitches.
I regret the words the second they leave my mouth.
She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at me like she doesn’t know whether to slap me or kiss me.
I step back. “I’ll take the floor.”
I pull a blanket from the chest and toss it down. Hard. It lands between us like a wall.
She watches me for a long time.
Then she says quietly, “Thank you for coming for me.”
I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve her.
But I nod once. And say nothing.
Because the truth is, I’ll burn the world to keep her safe.
Even from me.