Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Zane
I don’t say too much right away.
The truck sits in my head as a loose nail you don’t notice until it cuts you. Could be nothing. Could be someone passing through. But nothing that idles twice in the same place without reason ever turns out to be nothing.
So yeah. I take it seriously.
Just in case.
I don’t push it at first.
I just watch her.
The way her eyes flick to the window when we get back inside The Hollow. The way she doesn’t set her bag down because she might need to move again fast. She’s trying to stay agreeable, trying not to make waves.
That’s the part that worries me.
“Aurora,” I say. “We’re gonna grab your things from the cabin.”
Her head snaps up. “Wait… what?”
“Just essentials,” I add. “Clothes. Toiletries. Stuff you’ll need if you stay here a bit longer.”
Her shoulders tense immediately. “I agreed to one night.”
I nod. “I know.”
“One,” she repeats, firmer now. “Not moving in. I don’t want to impose, and I definitely don’t want this turning into…” she gestures vaguely between us, the bar, the situation, “a whole thing.”
I bite back a sigh.
This is the part Ryder’s bad at. The part I’m better with.
“This isn’t about imposing,” I say. “It’s about control.”
Her chin lifts. “Whose?”
Oof.
“Safety,” I correct. “Yours.”
She crosses her arms.
“I’m not staying here indefinitely, Zane. I’m leaving town soon anyway. I don’t want people thinking I’m… involved.”
I step closer without meaning to, enough that she feels me there.
“People already think things,” I say quietly. “That’s small towns.”
She exhales sharply. “That’s exactly my point.”
There’s heat under this now. Awareness. The fact that we’re both too close and pretending that doesn’t matter.
“You really think Ryder’s going to let you go back there alone?”
Her lips press together. “I don’t need Ryder’s permission.”
“No,” I agree. “But you do need his reality.”
That gets me a look. A long one. Green eyes bright with frustration and curiosity.
“He doesn’t get to decide what happens to me.”
“I know,” I reply. “But he will decide what risks he’s willing to accept.”
“And you?” she asks softly. “What do you think?”
I hold her gaze.
“I think,” I say slowly, “that you can argue all you want about staying one night, but Ryder’s not going to let it slide. And I think if you try to walk back into that cabin tonight, he’ll lose his damn mind.”
She lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “That’s not my problem.”
“It is if you’re the reason.”
Silence stretches.
“I don’t like feeling managed,” she says finally.
“I don’t like feeling helpless,” I answer.
That stops her.
Neither of us moves. The air between us hums, tight and warm, a wire pulled too far.
“Fine,” she says at last, all clipped and irritated. “I’ll get my things. But I’m staying one more night. That’s it. If there’s still a risk, I’ll just… leave.”
I nod, even though I know damn well that’s not how this ends.
“One more night,” I agree.
She narrows her eyes. She knows I’m lying, even if I’m not saying it out loud.
We don’t argue after that.
She grabs her jacket, slings her bag over her shoulder as armor, and heads for the door with that stubborn little set to her spine that tells me she’s not backing down. She’s just choosing which hill she’ll die on.
I follow.
It’s colder than it was earlier. The street’s quiet in that deceptive late afternoon way, the town’s holding its breath between errands and gossip.
We walk side by side toward the cabin. We keep just enough distance to feel the tension between us, but close enough that I can hear the way her breath catches in the air. Our steps fall into the same rhythm anyway.
“You don’t have to hover,” she says without looking at me.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I glance at her. “I’m walking.”
She huffs a laugh. “You’re walking like you’d tackle a bear if it crossed the road.”
“If the bear looked at you wrong,” I say.
She finally looks at me then, lips twitching despite herself. “That’s not reassuring.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
The path narrows as we leave the main road. Trees crowd in, branches arching overhead. Her shoulder brushes my arm when the ground dips. Just barely.
It’s enough.
My jaw tightens. Her breath stutters for half a second before she schools it back into calm.
Chemistry’s a stupid word for it. Makes it sound fun. Harmless.
This isn’t.
This is pressure. Awareness. The kind of heat that comes from two people standing too close to something neither of them is ready to name.
The cabin comes into view, exactly where it should be.
I scan the clearing before she even reaches for the key. Looking for tire marks, footprints. There’s nothing obvious.
Doesn’t mean a damn thing.
“Go ahead,” I say. “I’ll be right here.”
She unlocks the door and steps inside. I follow, staying near the entrance, eyes tracking corners, windows, the back door. Everything looks as it should.
That’s when I hear it.
The sharp inhale.
“Zane?” Aurora’s voice wobbles as she calls out to me. “Something’s… wrong.”
I move instantly.
“What?”
She’s kneeling in front of the dresser, jewelry box open, hands hovering, afraid to touch what’s inside.
“It’s not here,” she says. “My locket. My grandmother’s. I always keep it right here. On the nightstand, or in the box.”
Her breathing starts to hitch.
“No. No, no… I didn’t move it. I would remember if I moved it. It’s Evie’s, it’s important to me.”
I drop to a knee beside her.
“Okay,” I say. “Slow down. We’ll find it.”
This isn’t supposed to happen here. This town is supposed to be quiet. Predictable. The kind of place where people leave doors unlocked and trust the wrong things.
I open the drawer wider. Check behind it. Under the dresser. My movements are controlled, methodical, but cold starts spreading through my chest.
“Aurora,” I say carefully. “Tell me about the locket.”
Her hands are shaking now. “It was Evie’s. She wore it every day. I… I keep it with me. Always. I didn’t take it to the Hollow last night. I swear. It’s a heart shape, with a photo inside it, and I can’t lose it, I just can’t…”
I stand slowly, scanning the room again, seeing it differently now. The window latch. The angle of the rug. The way the air feels disturbed.
My jaw goes tight.
This doesn’t feel misplaced.
This is a message.
She scrambles to her feet, panic flashing bright in her eyes. “What if someone took it?”
I step closer, hands light but firm on her shoulders, trying to calm her.
“Look at me,” I say.
She does.
“I’m here,” I tell her. “You’re safe right now. If they came in here, I’m sure it’s when you were at The Hollow, and I can assure you, you’re protected there.”
Her eyes search mine. I think she’s anchoring herself to something solid. My grip tightens just a fraction.
Inside, everything shifts.
Whatever this is, it just got real.
And Ryder is not going to want any of this at all.