Chapter 38
Amber
The snow falls heavily tonight. Thick flakes drift down and smother the forest, wrapping every branch and path in soft white.
It should feel peaceful, but it’s the kind of peace that lies—the kind that masks teeth underneath.
Inside the cabin, the fire’s glow barely reaches the corners, and the air has a weight to it, thick with fear and the dull ache of frustration.
Bas hasn’t really sat still all day. Not in a calm way, anyway.
He’s been checking the windows, straightening the latch on the front door, fussing with the logs in the basket, even when they don’t need it.
His eyes keep drifting to the glass like he’s waiting for the forest to spit something back at him.
“I hate this,” I say quietly, arms crossed over my chest, even though the fire burns hot. “I hate being stuck here, waiting for something to happen.”
He’s sat on the rug with his back to the couch, knees bent, staring into the fire like it’s holding answers.
The tightness around his jaw is there again, the one I’ve learned means his thoughts are running faster than he’s letting on.
He finally looks at me, but it’s brief, before his gaze pulls back toward the window.
“We can’t leave,” he says. “Not yet. If we move now, we could walk right into them.”
I bite down on the urge to argue. “But if they already know we’re here—”
“They might,” he cuts in. “But we don’t make it easier for them.”
Before I can answer, the burner phone buzzes on the little table by the couch. The sound jolts through the quiet. My stomach flips as I grab it, and the number flashing on the screen makes my heart squeeze.
“Dad?” My voice comes out in a whisper.
“Amber.” Jack’s voice is rough, like he’s been yelling at someone. “Listen to me. The Reapers know you’re in Nordmarka.”
Ice sluices down my spine. “How—?”
“Don’t matter,” he snaps. “What matters is, my boys in Denmark are already on their way to you. They’ll ride hard, but I don’t know how long it’ll take ‘em in that fuckin’ weather. Could be hours. Could be more.”
I glance at Bas. His eyes are on me now, unreadable but locked in.
Dad keeps going. “I’m leaving England tonight, got some of the Miami boys with me. Ferry to Denmark, then we’ll push north. You stay put until you see my men, you hear?”
I swallow hard. “What if they find us before that?”
There’s a pause, like he’s biting back the words he really wants to say. “Then you and Bas keep your fuckin’ heads down and don’t be heroes. I mean it, Amber. Don’t get fuckin’ clever. Let them pass if you can.”
I want to tell him that sitting still is the exact opposite of clever when someone’s hunting you, but my throat feels tight. “Okay.”
“Kill that phone after this call. You’ve got the next one ready?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl. I’ll get to you as soon as I can. Love you, babygirl.”
The line goes dead, leaving only the crackle of the fire and my own pulse hammering in my ears.
I drop the phone onto the table and look at Bas. “They know we’re here. My dad’s MC is on their way from Denmark, but he doesn’t know how long it’ll take. He’s coming too.”
Bas doesn’t speak right away. He runs a hand over his jaw, the scrape of stubble loud in the quiet. “So now we know for sure,” he says finally. “It’s not just a feeling anymore.”
That should make me feel worse, but in a way, there’s a sick relief in having the fear confirmed. At least it’s real and not my imagination.
We move through the cabin together, checking everything again—not with military precision, just two people trying to make a thin shell of wood and glass hold against something bigger than us.
Bas wedges a chair under the back door handle and tests the latch twice.
He doesn’t set traps or string wires—that’s not him—but he makes sure our coats and boots are right by the couch, bags packed.
“If we have to go,” he says, “we don’t waste any fucking time. ”
I try to help. I fold the blanket on the couch so it’s easy to grab, line the torch up next to the matches, and make sure the food in my bag is on top. None of it stops the feeling that we’re just rearranging the furniture in a sinking boat.
By the time night falls, the wind has picked up, rattling the shutters in short bursts. The cabin feels even smaller in the dark, like the walls have drawn in close. We eat in near silence—soup from a tin, bread that’s starting to go stale, what I’d give for a decent meal.
“I’m sorry,” I say at one point, my voice barely carrying over the fire’s soft hiss.
“For what?” Bas asks without looking away from the flames.
“For snapping earlier. For… being scared.”
He shakes his head. “You think I’m not?”
I lean against him, feeling the tension in his shoulders. “You hide it better.”
“I just… try to,” he admits. “For you.”
That pulls at something deep inside me.
Before I can answer, there’s a sound outside. Soft. Deliberate. Snow crunching under boots.
Bas freezes, and so do I. It’s as if my entire body is suddenly tuned to that noise, every nerve standing on end. My skin prickles, my pulse stutters, and the heat from the fire might as well be a mile away.
The crunch comes again, closer this time, followed by the faint squeak of packed snow under weight. I can hear it in my teeth, feel it vibrating in my ribs.
Bas gets up slowly, crossing to the window.
He doesn’t yank the curtain back—just eases the edge away from the frame enough to look out.
I don’t follow. I can’t. My feet feel glued to the rug, as if moving might draw their attention.
Cold spreads through my limbs like something liquid and poisonous, making my fingers clumsy.
When he looks back, his voice is low. “Someone’s moving along the side of the cabin.”
My pulse surges into my throat so hard it makes me dizzy. “Do you think—”
“It’s them,” he says simply.
The footsteps pause. Then—the faint rattle of the front door handle. Not loud, not forced, just… tested. A slow push down and release, as if the person behind it has all the time in the world.
Bas motions me back from the door. I force my legs to move, retreating toward the couch, every step feeling like it might give me away. My heart is a solid, pounding weight against my ribs, so loud I’m sure they can hear it through the walls.
The handle moves again. This time it holds a fraction longer before it releases, and I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop the sound building in my throat.
We wait, barely breathing, the air thick enough to choke on.
Then the crunch of snow again, moving toward the side window. My chest feels too tight, my breath too shallow, and I swear the whole curtain shifts with the thud of my heartbeat.
I watch the fabric’s outline bend slightly—not from wind, but from someone brushing against it on the other side.
“They’re looking in,” I whisper, my voice trembling so much it barely sounds like mine. My hands are shaking, and I press them to my sides, but it doesn’t help.
Bas moves toward the front of the cabin; eyes locked on the sound. “They’re mapping us,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me.
The footsteps drift toward the back, and the next sound is another door handle tested—slower this time, like they’re feeling for a weakness.
My stomach knots so hard it hurts. I picture a gloved hand curling around the metal, twisting, trying to coax it open.
For one wild second, I’m certain the latch will give, and the door will swing inward, and I don’t know if I’ll scream or stop breathing altogether.
For a few minutes, it’s just that—quiet testing, circling, never rushing. I can feel every second crawling past, my muscles locked, my jaw aching from clenching it too hard.
Then the sound fades, swallowed by the snow.
We stand there for a long time, listening, the fire’s light flickering over the walls, throwing shadows that seem to twitch at the edges of my vision.
Finally, Bas lets out a slow breath. “They’re not going away,” he says. “They’ll try again.”
I think of Dad on the other end of the line earlier, promising he’s coming, telling me not to get clever.
I picture him riding through the dark, my dad’s MC cutting across snowy roads from Denmark, but I have no idea if they’ll get here before The Reapers decide waiting isn’t worth it. The thought makes my chest feel hollow.
I meet Bas’s eyes, and my voice is steadier than I expect when I say, “Then we stay ready.”
He nods once.
Outside, the snow keeps falling, thick and steady, as if it has no idea the world has teeth.