Chapter 5
FIVE
FIONA
The nightmare is loud. Not in the way nightmares usually are—with screaming and fire and obvious monsters—but in the way silence is loud when you’re waiting for a door to open.
I’m back in my apartment. The one with the bad plumbing and the window that never quite locked. The lights are off. My phone is dead. I’m standing in the hallway, barefoot, holding my breath like if I don’t make a sound the world won’t remember I exist.
Then I hear it. Footsteps. Slow. Unhurried. Like whoever’s coming already knows they have time. I try to move. I can’t. My feet are glued to the carpet. My chest feels wrapped in duct tape. The footsteps stop on the other side of my bedroom door.
A hand touches the knob.
And then— I jerk awake with a gasp, heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
The cabin is dark except for the low orange glow of embers in the fireplace down the hall. For a second, I don’t know where I am. My skin is slick with sweat. My throat burns.
I listen.
No footsteps.
No voices.
No creak of a door.
Just the soft hush of wind through trees and the steady tick of the wall clock.
You’re safe, I tell myself.
My body doesn’t believe me.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and press my palms to my thighs, trying to slow my breathing. The guest room is cozy—thick blankets, clean sheets, the faint smell of cedar—but my chest still feels too tight. Like the walls are inching closer.
I close my eyes. The image of the doorknob turning flashes behind them.
“Nope,” I whisper. I stand, pad to the door, and crack it open.
The hallway is dim. Chase’s room is at the end, a faint line of light spilling from under his door—probably the same habit that made him leave the fire going. Practical. Steady. Prepared.
My hand hovers in the air. I don’t want to be that person.
The girl who wakes a man in the middle of the night because she had a bad dream.
The girl who needs reassurance like a child needs a nightlight.
But the truth is simple and ugly and very present: I’m scared.
And pretending I’m not hasn’t worked so far.
I take a breath and knock softly. Nothing. I knock again, a little louder. “Chase?” My voice comes out small. Annoyingly small. There’s a pause. Then movement.
The door opens a few inches, and Chase appears, hair messy, T-shirt wrinkled, eyes instantly alert. “What’s wrong?” he asks, already scanning the hallway like he expects a threat to leap out of the shadows.
I swallow. “I had a nightmare.”
His expression shifts—still guarded, but softer around the edges. “Come in.” He opens the door wider and steps back.
I slip inside like I’m afraid the dark might grab me by the ankles and drag me away.
His room is simple. Bed. Dresser. A chair with clothes thrown over it. No clutter. No nonsense. The kind of room that belongs to a man who doesn’t collect things—just skills.
“Do you want water?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I just… I don’t want to be alone right now.” The words feel like a confession.
He doesn’t hesitate. He just nods. “Okay.”
Okay. Not that’s inconvenient. Not you’ll be fine. Not go back to bed. Just… okay.
He pulls back the covers on his bed and gestures. “You can sleep here.”
I freeze. “I don’t want to kick you out of your bed.”
“You’re not,” he says. “We can share. Or I can take the chair.”
I glance at the chair. It looks about as comfortable as a medieval torture device. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I say. “You’re not sleeping in that.”
He studies my face for a second, like he’s making sure this is what I actually want. Then he nods and climbs in on the far side of the bed, leaving a careful, respectful space between us.
I slide in too, clutching the blanket like it’s a shield.
For a moment, we just lie there. The room is quiet. My heart is still racing, but slower now. Less wild.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks quietly.
I stare at the ceiling. “It was stupid.”
“Nightmares usually are,” he says. “Doesn’t make them easy.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Someone was coming into my apartment. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream. I just… waited.”
His jaw tightens. “You’re not there anymore,” he says. “You’re here. With me. No one’s getting to you.”
I want to believe him. I really, really do. But fear doesn’t care about logic. My body shivers, and before I can stop myself, I roll slightly toward him.
He notices immediately. “You cold?” he asks.
“Just… unsettled.”
He hesitates for half a second—just enough to prove he’s not taking advantage of anything—then opens his arm. “Come here.” The invitation is quiet. Gentle.
I move into his side, and he wraps his arm around me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like holding me is part of his job description.
His chest is warm. Solid. His heartbeat is steady under my cheek.
My own starts to match it. He doesn’t touch me anywhere inappropriate.
Doesn’t try to turn it into something it isn’t.
Just holds me, one hand resting between my shoulder blades like he’s anchoring me to the bed. “Breathe,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
I do. In and out. Slow. My muscles start to unclench one by one.
“You don’t have to be brave here,” he says. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” The words hit harder than they should.
I swallow. “I’m not very good at not pretending.”
He huffs a quiet, humorless laugh. “Yeah. I noticed.”
I tilt my head back just enough to look at him. His eyes are soft in the low light. Focused. On me. “Chase?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you really think I’m safe?”
His answer comes without hesitation. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I won’t let anything happen to you.” It’s a simple statement. Direct. Like it’s not a promise—it’s a fact.
My chest tightens. “I want to believe you,” I whisper.
He brushes his thumb once, gently, against my arm. “You don’t have to believe me yet. Just… rest.”
So I do. I let myself sink into his warmth. Into the steady rise and fall of his chest. Into the quiet certainty of his presence. For the first time in a long time, sleep doesn’t feel like surrender.
It feels like relief.
Morning comes in through the window like a soft knock. I wake slowly, warm and comfortable and very aware that I’m still wrapped around Chase like a human blanket.
He’s awake, staring at the ceiling, his arm still around me like he hasn’t moved all night.
“Oh,” I whisper, realizing. “I’m sorry. I—”
He glances down at me. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Better. Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
I slide out of bed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close we were. How safe I felt. How easy it was to fall asleep like that. Dangerous thoughts. I retreat to the bathroom to splash water on my face and remind myself why I’m here. When I come back out, Chase is already pulling on his boots.
“Team’s meeting in fifteen,” he says. “They’re starting to dig into who might be after you.”
My stomach flips. “So it’s real,” I say quietly. “We’re actually doing this.”
He meets my gaze. “We’ve been doing it since you drove up the mountain.”
That shouldn’t be comforting. But it is. I grab my hoodie and follow him out into the morning light, heart still bruised from the night—but steadier. Because whatever’s coming… I’m not facing it alone anymore.