Chapter 12 #2
Ava exits the bathroom, her gaze a steady weight on my shoulders. "There's an old service road on the north side," I say, turning to face her. "I need to check it out. Make sure no one's using it."
I retrieve my backup and hold it out. "You remember what I showed you?"
She nods, her fingers brushing mine as she takes it—a brief spark of warmth in the chill. "Safety on until I need it. Don't point it at anything I'm not willing to shoot."
"Good." I grab my coat, the heavy fabric stiff with cold, and check my own sidearm.
The slide clicks home with a mechanical finality.
"Lock the door behind me. Don't open it for anyone but me.
Stay away from the windows. If you hear anything—anything at all—get in the bedroom and barricade the door. "
"Wait." I stop, turning back. "I'm coming with you."
Every instinct I have screams that this is a mistake.
She’ll slow me down. If something goes sideways, my focus will be split between the threat and the woman behind me.
But leaving her here alone, with no way to call for help and a potential access point I haven't cleared? That thought makes my blood run cold.
"Ava—"
"You need someone to keep watch while you check the road," she says, standing. Her voice is steady, but I catch the slight tremor in her hands. "And I'm safer with you than sitting here alone."
She's right. I hate the logic of it, the way it binds us together in the line of fire. "You do exactly what I tell you," I say, stepping closer. "When I tell you. No questions, no hesitation."
"Understood."
I hold her gaze for a moment, looking for any sign of doubt. "Get your warmest layers. We leave in five minutes."
She nods and heads for the bedroom. I watch her go, then turn back to the window, scanning the tree line until my eyes burn. Lord, I'm running on fumes here. Help me see clearly. Help me make the right call.
Because if I'm wrong about this, it won't just be me who pays the price.
I check my gear while she layers up—extra ammunition, the knife sheath cold against my thigh, the sat phone secured in my inside pocket where my body heat can keep the battery alive.
As I’m checking the magazine, a wave of exhaustion hits me like a physical blow.
I have to brace my palms against the counter, my head swimming.
Two hours of sleep in the last forty-eight. Maybe less.
I blink hard, forcing the hazy room back into focus. This is exactly when the world blurs. When your brain starts filling in the gaps of the forest with ghosts.
Ava emerges from the bedroom, bundled and ready, her eyes searching my face too closely. "I'm fine," I say before she can ask.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it."
She doesn't deny it. I hand her the backup weapon again. "Stay close," I tell her as we step out. "We're just doing reconnaissance."
Outside, the world has gone deathly still. The snow has stopped, leaving an unnatural, muffled silence that makes the heavy crunch-clump of our boots through the fresh powder sound like a gunshot. We move around the north side of the cabin as the air bites at any exposed skin.
Ava stays close as we circle the north side of the cabin, breath fogging in the cold. The coordinates glow on my phone.
“Half a mile,” I say.
The forest swallows us as we push into the timber. Evergreen branches sag under the weight of the snow, the shadows between trunks deep enough to hide a man if he wanted to.
Twenty minutes out, the timber breaks. The service road cuts through the forest, a narrow white scar in the gray light. I raise a hand. Ava stops instantly.
I move ahead, my boots sinking into the crust. I scan for a break in the white—tire ruts, a boot print, anything that doesn't belong to the wind. Nothing. Just fresh powder, blinding and flat.
I start to turn back when a flash of color catches the light near the shoulder.
My pulse skips. It’s a crumpled jerky wrapper, half-buried. I crouch, turning the plastic over with a gloved finger. The edges aren't weathered yet. The foil hasn't been dulled by the sun.
It could be anyone. A hunter. A hiker. Someone cutting through the timber weeks ago before the first heavy drift. It’s a thin piece of trash in a thousand acres of woods, but somehow it got here.
“Anything?” Ava calls. Her voice is a low, breathy thread from behind me.
“Nothing definite,” I say.
It’s the truth. But as we turn back toward the cabin, I memorize the slope of the ground and the sightlines to the porch.
Just in case.
Ava
By the time we reach the cabin, the morning light has turned brittle, reflecting off the snow with a glare so sharp it makes my eyes ache. The silence of the mountain follows us inside, heavy and expectant.
Silas sheds his coat, the heavy fabric hitting the chair with a dull thud, but he doesn't sit.
He just stands in the center of the room, his shoulders a rigid line of tension under his sweater.
The air around him feels charged, like the static before a lightning strike.
He looks out the window, his profile etched in the harsh, unforgiving light—pale, shadowed, and dangerously tired.
"Ava." His voice is quiet. "You need to know how to use this."
I cross to where he's standing by the small table. He pulls out the satellite phone and sets it down between us.
"Silas—"
"If something happens." He's not looking at me. "If I'm... compromised. You need to be able to call for help."
The word 'compromised' hangs in the air between us.
"Show me," I say quietly.
He picks up the phone, his hands steady but deliberate, like he's concentrating too hard on the simple motion.
"Power button here. Hold it for three seconds." He demonstrates, then hands it to me. "You try."
I take it and follow his instructions until the screen lights up.
"Good." He swipes to the contacts. There's only one. "Caleb. You press here, it connects directly."
I nod.
"If you have to use this, tell him exactly where we are. He already has the coordinates, but you confirm you’re still on site. Tell him what's happened. And no matter what, you stay on the line until he tells you what to do next."
His eyes are intense, locked on mine, making sure I understand.
I draw a slow breath. “And if he doesn’t answer?”
“You keep calling.” His voice firms. “You don’t assume anything. Satellites drift. Weather interferes. You stay on it until you hear a voice.”
Something tightens in my chest. “And if I can’t get through at all?”
His jaw sets. “Then you stay put,” he says. “You don’t move locations. You don’t change anything that makes it harder for my team to find you. Because they will find you, Ava.”
I look down at the phone, the screen dark and cold in my palm, then back up at him. “I believe you.”
He studies my face for a long second, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my skin heat. “There are things… people… situations that can be complex.”
I fold my arms across my chest, the wool of my sweater scratchy against my skin. “You think I can’t understand complexity?”
He shakes his head, a frustrated motion that sends a stray lock of hair falling over his forehead. “What I meant was that…” He pauses, letting out a low, ragged breath that hitches in the quiet room. “Evil men are getting worse.”
I nod, the verse echoing in my head. “We were warned. Second Timothy.”
“Right.” His jaw tightens, a muscle leaping in his cheek. “That’s why I err on the side of caution. I expect the worst from people. I plan for it.”
Something shifts in my chest, a heavy, sinking sensation. This isn’t just about procedure or his jaded view of the world. He’s shielding me from more than just text messages.
I study the lines etched around his eyes, the deep shadows that reveal the extent of his fatigue. “What aren’t you telling me? Do you have news about Reagan?”
His gaze drops, just for a moment, and the silence that follows is deafening—broken only by the hiss and pop of the wood dying in the hearth.
“I wish I could protect you from all of it,” he says, his voice dropping so low I have to lean in to hear it. “But I can’t.”
"Silas, what's happened?" My pulse picks up, a frantic drumming in my ears.
He looks at me, and for the first time since this nightmare started, I see the exhaustion finally win. It’s written in the slump of his shoulders and the way his eyes lose their edge.
"Sit down," he says quietly, gesturing to a chair. "There's something you need to know."