That word hits me right in the chest. Because truth is? I haven’t felt that way in months.
I glance at Chase. He doesn’t push. Just waits, steady and calm. Patient. Which is somehow worse than pressuring me. Because I want to say yes.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “Yeah. That’s…fine.”
Gavin’s jaw ticks, but he nods. “You’ll check in regularly.”
Chase just gives him a look that saysobviously.
Kayley claps her hands. “Perfect! I’ll put together a basket of essentials. Snacks, toothpaste, the good stuff.”
Emma adds, “And I’ll throw in some of the cookies I made yesterday. You’re going to need chocolate. Trust me.”
I blink, overwhelmed. “You people are weird.”
Kayley grins. “You’ll get used to it.”
Chase touches my elbow lightly. “Ready?”
No. Not even a little. But I nod.
And as we head out of the command center and toward his cabin, I hear Harper say, “She’s going to fit in just fine.”
I want to believe that. Really, I do. But I’ve neverfit inanywhere. And if this place is anything like the others? I won’t let myself hope. I’ll just stay alive long enough to figure out who’s after me—and then vanish before I can disappoint anyone else.
Again.
FOUR
CHASE
I wasn’t expecting her to say yes. Wasn’t expecting her to look so pretty and vulnerable as she did. Seriously, every time I look at her there’s something raw that squeezes in my chest. It’s a feeling I’ve never felt before.
I smile her. “Cabin’s in walking distance.”
She nods. “Great. Again, thank you.” She’s scared. I can tell. And she’s trying like hell to hide it behind sarcasm and resting bitch face—but I see it. And it pisses me off. Not at her.
At whoever made her look over her shoulder like that.
We walk up the gravel drive to my cabin, boots crunching against loose stone. The porch light glows warm through the trees, casting long shadows over the pines. It’s quiet out here. No sirens. No buzzing streetlamps. Just trees, stars, and a wraparound porch with a swing that no one’s sat in since I built the damn thing.
“You good?” I ask, voice low.
She exhales slowly. “Just thinking about all the ways this could be a murder setup.”
I snort. “Fair. But I don’t murder on Tuesdays.”
“Wow. What a gentleman.”
Her sarcasm is a shield. I don’t take it personally. I actually can appreciate it.
“Come on. I’ve got central heat and strong locks. Real five-star serial killer energy.”
She cracks a smile—just barely—but it’s enough. A sliver of real.
I lead her inside. The air smells like cedar and cinnamon, thanks to a candle I forgot I left burning. The place is clean and cozy. One main room with a leather couch, stone fireplace, open kitchen. Two bedrooms down the hall.
“This is… not what I expected,” she says, eyeing the rustic wood beams.