Chapter 27
Bastiaan
The forest is quiet, but it feels like the kind of quiet that waits for something to happen.
The pines stand tall on either side of the narrow road, their dark needles whispering in the wind, and the overcast sky presses low, turning the world into muted shades of green and grey.
We should never have crossed that line.
I tell myself it was the pressure, the fear, the adrenaline. That I was comforting her, that she was comforting me. But the truth is simpler and sharper: I’ve wanted her for years, and when the chance finally came, I couldn’t say no. I didn’t even try.
Amber shifts in her seat beside me, drawing her knees closer to her chest. When she tucks a loose curl behind her ear and gives me a shy, sleepy smile, all my resolve crumbles.
The memory of her lips, the heat of her body pressed against mine, the soft sound she made when she whispered my name—it all crashes back in vivid, dangerous detail.
Once the van is moving, my shoulders loosen just a fraction. The engine’s hum, the steady ribbon of road beneath us—it’s familiar. It’s something I can control. Movement is survival. Stillness is when danger catches up.
I keep scanning the mirrors. Every car. Every turn.
A silver SUV appears in the distance behind us, then disappears around a bend. I mark it in my head anyway. The forest swallows sound so well that even a single set of tyres crunching over gravel would feel like a gunshot in this hush.
Nordmarka is still hours away. If the roads stay clear, maybe five or six. Longer if I need to take detours or pull off to make sure we’re not being followed. I won’t risk leading anyone to the place I’ve chosen for us to disappear for a while.
Amber finally breaks the silence, her voice soft and tentative.
“Do you… think the Reapers really know we’re still in Denmark?”
“Yes.” My answer is simple, and I don’t sugarcoat it. I promised myself I wouldn’t lie to her, not about this.
“Remember what your dad said. They have eyes everywhere.”
She swallows, her gaze shifting to the blur of trees passing her window.
“Then we just… keep going?”
“For now.” My hands tighten on the wheel. “We put distance between where they last saw us and where we currently are, keep moving until I say we can stop.”
Her sigh is quiet but heavy. I know where her thoughts have gone—Bea, Andrea and Jess, the shop, the life she built with her own hands. Everything she loves is now sitting in limbo because of the man she calls Dad and the world he dragged her into.
My own thoughts go to Abel.
I picture his sandy hair sticking up in the mornings when he crawls into my bed, still half-asleep, clutching his astronaut toy. I picture him crouched on the dock at home on the lake, fishing rod in hand, asking endless questions about the stars.
I haven’t heard that voice in nearly a week.
I grip the steering wheel harder, my knuckles white.
Amber is small and soft in my hoodie, swallowed by its size, looking at me like I’m the only thing standing between her and the darkness. She trusts me completely. With her life. Maybe with more than that.
And I’ve already crossed a line I swore I wouldn’t.
Marieke’s ghost lingers at the edges of my mind, as present as ever.
I loved her, fuck I loved her. I thought she would be my only love.
Her absence left a hollow I never thought I’d fill, and I’d grown comfortable with the ache of it.
But somewhere in the quiet spaces of the last few years, Amber crept in and rooted herself deep in my heart.
She’s light and sharpness all at once. She’s hope. And that’s what terrifies me.
I can’t let her go. And I can’t let anything happen to her.
The road curves along a stretch of water, black under the cloudy sky, rippling in the wind. The van hums steadily, tyres hissing over the damp pavement. My mind runs in tight, endless loops:
Check the mirrors.
Watch the trees.
Don’t touch her again.
God, I want to touch her again.
Amber’s voice pulls me from the cycle.
“Do you think about… stopping?”
I glance at her, then back to the road.
“Stopping?”
She nods, hugging her knees tighter.
“Just… finding somewhere like this. In the middle of nowhere. Waiting until it all goes away.”
The thought is a cruel temptation. I’ve imagined it a thousand times today alone.
“I’ve thought about it,” I admit, voice rough. “But it doesn’t work like that. If we stop, we make it easier for them to find us.”
Her lips press together, and she nods, though disappointment flickers in her eyes.
I want to reach for her, but I can’t. Not now. Not when I need both hands on the wheel and all my focus on the road. So I soften my voice instead.
“We’ll get through this, liefje. I promise.”
The endearment slips out before I can stop it.
“What does that mean? Liefje,” she asks shyly. Fucking adorable.
“In English, it translates to ‘darling’.”
She blinks at me, lips parted, and for a moment the world narrows to the sound of her soft breath and the hammering of my heart. Then she looks back out the window, blush covering her cheeks, and I drag my eyes to the road, forcing myself to focus.
The forest feels endless, and the grey sky is starting to fade toward evening. I’ll have to find somewhere to pull off before dark—somewhere I can watch the road from a distance, somewhere no one will stumble across us.
Because loving her feels like the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done.
And I already know I’d do it again.