Chapter 34 Amber
Amber
The cool evening air hits us as soon as we step off the ferry, sharp and clean, laced with the scent of sea salt and metal.
It’s a jarring contrast to the stale cabin air we’ve been breathing for the last eight hours, and I pull my coat tighter around myself as we move through the nearly deserted terminal.
Bas leads the way, eyes scanning every shadow, every passerby. His pace is brisk, calculated, and without speaking, I match it. I focus on the rhythm of his boots against the tiled floor, steady and sure, like a drumbeat I can follow through the nerves churning in my stomach.
“This city feels so different from Copenhagen,” I murmur, trying to break the silence, if only to ground myself.
Bas glances sideways, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oslo’s quieter. Built into the wild, in a way. You can drive just ten minutes and find yourself in the middle of a forest. That’s why we’re here. It’s easier to disappear.”
A man waits at the edge of the terminal, beyond the glow of the overhead lights, just like Dad promised.
We follow him without a word. He’s dressed in a scuffed leather jacket, head buzzed short, with the kind of face that looks carved from stone—sharp angles, no warmth.
There’s a weight to him, a silent menace that reminds me too much of my dad.
He doesn’t speak. Just gives a single nod when he sees us.
He leads us to a matte black van parked on the street, its windows tinted, engine silent. We stop beside it, and he glances at me first, then at Bas, before holding out a single key.
“This the one?” I ask, voice low.
Another nod.
Then, without a word, he turns and melts into the shadows like he was never there.
Bas and I climb into the van. The engine purrs to life instantly, and as soon as the interior lights flicker on, we see what’s been left behind for us.
In the back: three boxes—one of non-perishable food, one packed tight with bottled water, first-aid supplies, flashlights, and maps. The third is smaller and heavier. Inside, there’s cash. Stacks of it. Euros and kroner. No note. Just quiet, unmistakable support.
Bas doesn’t say anything. He just lets out a slow breath through his nose and pulls onto the road without a word.
The ride north is long. We leave the city lights behind, winding through dense forest roads, past scattered cabins and stretches of untouched pine.
The only sounds are the tyres crunching gravel and the soft rustle of trees swaying in the night wind.
I watch the blur of green and darkness out the window, my nerves ebbing slowly as we venture deeper into the woods.
The cabin appears like a secret—tucked into a clearing, modest and weather-worn, with smoke curling faintly from the chimney.
It’s the kind of place that looks untouched by time.
The scent of pine, cold moss, and distant firewood hits me the moment I step out of the van, and for a second…
it feels like breathing for the first time in days.
“Another safe-house owned by the Dutch flower mafia?” I smirk.
Bas pushes the door open—it’s already unlocked—and gestures me inside. The key sits casually on the side table, like it’s been waiting for us.
“Yeah,” he says with a faint grin. “Something like that.”
Inside, the cabin is small but warm. He lights the fire with practised movements while I unpack a few things, grateful for the crackle of flame and the golden glow it throws across the room.
The walls are lined with shelves holding books, tools, jars of nails and screws, maps with frayed edges pinned to corkboard.
We settle onto the old sofa near the fire, our mugs steaming in our hands. I curl one leg underneath me and watch the flames flicker.
Bas glances at me after a while, his tone gentle. “Can I ask you something?”
I nod without hesitation. “Of course.”
He studies me for a beat. “Why flowers?”
I blink. It’s not what I expected. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a florist. It’s your life—your shop, your hands, your world. Why that? What made you choose it?”
I smile softly, caught off guard by the simplicity of the question.
“My nan,” I say after a second. “When I was little, I’d spend every weekend in her garden.
She had this tiny cottage on the island, and the garden was like something out of a fairy tale.
Roses, lavender, iris, and peonies the size of your head. Every inch was alive.”
I glance at him, and he’s watching me with quiet interest.
“I used to help her pick and prune and deadhead things, even though I had no idea what I was doing. But she always made it feel like magic. Like we were growing spells. It just… stuck. Flowers became a way to speak without saying anything. They carry meaning. They comfort; they celebrate. I guess it felt like the only kind of beauty I could rely on.”
Bas nods, and something shifts behind his eyes. That softness in him—the one he rarely shows—edges forward for a moment before he looks away.
“She sounds like a good woman,” he says.
“She was. I think she’d like you.”
He chuckles under his breath, but there’s a weight to it, a shadow behind the smile. I reach for my tea, not pressing, letting the silence grow.
After a moment, Bas speaks again, quieter. “Marieke used to keep a garden.”
I look up slowly, surprised. He doesn’t talk about her—not often, not like this.
“In the back garden of the house we shared,” he says, eyes on the fire.
“Nothing fancy. A few herbs. Some wildflowers she tried to tame. A stubborn rose bush that never bloomed. But she kept at it every spring, every summer, like it meant something to make things grow, even when they didn’t want to. ”
His voice dips, quieter still.
“I didn’t get it back then. I thought it was just her way of passing the time. But now…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck.
I don’t speak. I just try to comfort him the best I can.
We sit for a while in the low glow of the fire, the flames dancing across the wood-panelled walls. Outside, the wind whispers through the trees, brushing the cabin like it’s checking to see if we’re still here.
When Bas speaks again, his voice is more guarded. “You remind me of her sometimes. Not in a way that hurts—just in the way you… care. About things that grow.”
My heart thuds a little harder. “Thank you,” I whisper.
We fall into silence again, our hands entwined on the sofa cushion between us. I watch the firelight flicker across his face, casting shadows that make his eyes seem darker, older, and more tired than usual.
“You okay?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away.
“I keep thinking,” he says finally, “about what I’ll do if something happens to you. And I don’t like any of the answers.”
I reach for his hand, fingers just brushing his—
When a sharp knock rattles the side of the cabin.
We both jolt.
Bas is on his feet instantly, eyes narrowing. “Stay here.”
He crosses the room in two strides, grabbing his pistol from the table without breaking stride. The air feels suddenly thinner, like the walls themselves are listening. I stay frozen, heart in my throat, watching him pause at the door.
He waits a moment. Listens.
Then he cracks it open, checks both directions, and slips out into the night.
The seconds stretch like hours. Every creak of the wood, every groan from the stove makes me flinch. I press my back to the wall and count his footsteps in my head—except I can’t hear any.
When he returns, it’s without a word at first. He shuts the door behind him slowly, carefully, and locks it. His face is pale, jaw tight.
“I think they’re testing us,” he says finally. “Trying to scare us. Let us know they’re near. Or an animal came too close. There are moose, red deer, and even brown bears that live in these forests.”
A chill moves down my spine. “So we’re not safe from both the MC and now wildlife?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just pulls me into his arms and holds me there, his silence heavier than words. He doesn’t think it was an animal; that much is clear.
That night, I lie awake long after the fire dies down, staring into the darkness.
The shadows aren’t quiet anymore.
They press against the windows. Creep through the cracks. Wait.
The threat is no longer a shape on the horizon.
It’s here. Breathing down our necks.
And Bas… he’s quieter than usual.
Like he’s already preparing for the worst.
Because the world outside still wants to collect.