8. An Uneasy Peace
Eight
An Uneasy Peace
They made it back to the cabin as the sun dipped below the tree line, streaks of copper and rose spilling across the lake’s still surface.
The drive back had been tense; the silence thick enough to choke on.
Neither Addy nor Sawyer said much, not since the gunshot.
The sound still echoed in Addy’s head, sharp and final, like the world itself had paused to listen.
When Sawyer finally pulled the truck into the clearing, both of them let out the same breath, a low, shuddering sigh of relief. The cabin stood exactly as they had left it, quiet and unbothered, smoke still faintly scenting the air from last night’s fire.
“Let’s move,” Sawyer said, his voice rough, clipped by exhaustion and lingering adrenaline.
They worked fast. Addy carried the lighter supplies, the cans, the medical bag, the smaller of the ammo boxes, while Sawyer hauled the heavier loads as if they weighed nothing.
Their boots thudded against the wooden porch as they made trip after trip from the truck to the cabin, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent woods.
Once the last tote was inside, Sawyer climbed back into the truck and maneuvered it carefully across the clearing, parking it tight against the base of the stairs, just like before. The metal frame groaned slightly as it settled into place, their makeshift barricade.
Addy watched him from the porch, arms wrapped around herself against the chill creeping in with the dusk.
She watched the way he moved, deliberate, scanning the treeline with every step, hand never far from his gun.
He was on edge, his eyes constantly flicking to the shadows as if expecting something to lurch out of them.
Inside, the cabin seemed smaller tonight, as though the walls had crept closer while they were gone.
Addy lit the lantern while Sawyer checked the shutters, making sure each one was latched tightly.
He moved next to the door, pushing one of the heavier storage chests against it before setting his rifle within reach on the counter.
The fire had burned low since morning, and Addy quickly knelt to coax it back to life, feeding it small pieces of kindling until the flames caught and grew steady. The soft crackle filled the space, but it did little to ease the taut energy in the room.
Sawyer finally dropped into the chair by the table, rubbing a hand over his face. “We were lucky today,” he said quietly. “Could’ve gone bad fast.”
Addy nodded, her stomach still twisted from the memory of that man, sick, hollow-eyed, begging with his gaze before Sawyer had pulled the trigger. “Do you think…” she hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think he even knew what was happening to him?”
Sawyer stared into the fire for a long time before answering. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I wasn’t going to risk it. Not with you there.”
Something in the way he said it made her chest tighten, the quiet protectiveness in the gravel of his tone. She didn’t know whether to thank him or tell him she could take care of herself, so instead she nodded, wordless.
Outside, the wind had picked up, whistling through the trees, making the cabin creak. Sawyer’s eyes darted toward the sound before settling back on the flames.
“We’ll eat and get some rest,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll sort through what we got. Inventory it; plan the next move.”
Addy sat down across from him, the firelight dancing between them, casting long shadows on the log walls. She could still sense the tremor in her hands from earlier, not fear exactly, but the dawning realization of how fragile safety had become.
And as Sawyer leaned back, scanning the door one last time before finally relaxing, if only slightly, Addy thought that possibly, for tonight at least, they’d made it through.
But outside, somewhere deep in the woods close to the cabin, a faint snap echoed, a branch breaking under weight. Neither of them spoke, but both heard it. Sawyer’s eyes flicked to the window, muscles tensing.
“Probably an animal,” Sawyer said, standing from his chair. The words were calm, but Addy noticed the way his hand jumped instinctively to the gun on the table. He crossed the room in a few quiet strides, his boots barely creaking against the old floorboards.
The cabin’s front window was fogged near the edges from the warmth inside meeting the chill outside. He wiped a clear patch with his sleeve and peered through; the firelight at his back threw his reflection faintly into the glass.
Beyond the porch, the lake shimmered like black glass, still except for the faint ripples that caught the last scraps of fading light.
Something moved along the shoreline, a shadow breaking the stillness.
Broad. Low. The kind of movement that didn’t fit the easy rhythm of a deer. Sawyer’s jaw tightened.
Addy rose halfway from her seat. “What is it? Do you see something?”
He didn’t answer right away, his eyes narrowing as the shadow paused. For a heartbeat, it almost looked as if it were standing upright. As if sensing his gaze, it slipped back into the darkness. Gone.
Sawyer lingered a moment longer, scanning the treeline. His reflection stared back at him: pale eyes, a set jaw, tension in every line of his face.
Finally, he turned back to her. “It was just a deer,” he said, voice steady, the faintest trace of reassurance threaded through it.
Addy frowned, searching his face for the truth. “You sure?”
He gave her a small, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Pretty sure. Probably came down for a drink.”
She exhaled and sat back down, clutching the mug between her palms. “You had me thinking it was one of those… sick ones.”
He didn’t respond, but walked over to the fire and threw another log on; the flames jumped higher with a crackle that filled the uneasy quiet.
Addy watched him, the orange glow flickering across his features, the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint scar near his temple. He was calm, composed, but his eyes kept drifting back toward the window.
“You don’t think it followed us, do you?” she asked quietly.
Sawyer poked at the fire with a stick, the wood hissing. “No,” he said after a beat. “Nothing followed us.”
But his tone had changed — lower, quieter, as if he didn’t want to disturb something listening outside. He moved to the door, checked the lock again, and nudged the heavy chest tighter against it.
Addy tried to relax, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders. The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
Outside, the night had gone completely still. No crickets. No wind. Not even the lapping of the lake.
“Deer, huh?” she said softly, her voice carrying a tremor she couldn’t quite hide.
Sawyer met her eyes from across the room, the rifle now leaning against his leg. “Yeah,” he said again, holding her gaze for a long moment. Then, quieter, so soft she almost didn’t hear him, “Let’s hope that’s all it was.”
The cabin settled into silence, the fire crackling being the only sound. But somewhere out near the lake, beyond the reach of the moonlight, something moved again, slower this time, deliberate, before disappearing into the trees.
* * *
Addy watched him through the flickering firelight, the orange glow tracing along his jaw, softening the sharpness that usually lived there.
He looked almost peaceful—almost. But there was something about Sawyer that never fully relaxed.
Even sitting by the fire, boots off, shoulders loose, his eyes still carried that quiet alertness of a man who never truly stopped scanning for danger.
She’d wondered about him since the day they met. The way he moved, the calm way he handled chaos, it wasn’t luck. It was training. Experience. And it gnawed at her curiosity until she couldn’t hold back any longer.
“So,” she started, trying to sound casual, “what exactly did you do in the military?”
He glanced up, the faintest lift of a brow. “You really want to know that?”
She smiled, raising two fingers in mock solemnity. “Swear on my honor as a former Brownie Scout. I won’t tell a soul.”
That actually got a small laugh out of him—low, genuine, quick. “Somehow, I doubt you were the merit badge type.”
“Excuse me,” she teased. “I earned at least three. One of which involved not setting a tent on fire. So, I’m basically elite.”
He shook his head, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told,” she said, smirking. “Now stop dodging.”
He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting to the fire.
For a moment, the only sound was the quiet hiss and pop of the logs.
His voice came low and deliberate. “I started out in the Navy. Special operations. After a few years, I moved over to a contracting unit, government-run but not officially part of the military. We handled… operations the military wasn’t sanctioned to do. ”
Addy blinked, watching him carefully. “You mean black ops.”
He hesitated long enough for her to know she’d hit the mark. “Something like that.”
“What kind of things?” she pressed softly, though she wasn’t sure she wanted the real answer.
Sawyer’s expression darkened slightly. Not angry, but distant. “The kind that doesn’t make the news. We went where we were told, did what had to be done, and left before anyone knew we’d been there.”
Addy swallowed, her throat dry. “Sounds… heavy.”
“It was,” he admitted quietly. “But it was logical at that time. We had rules, structure, and a purpose. You learn to follow orders, keep your head down, and survive. Afterward, you return home and attempt to pretend that past version of yourself never existed.
She studied him in the firelight, the weight of his words hanging thick between them. “Did it work?”
He gave a humorless laugh. “You tell me.”