Page 46 of What Remains

The SUV was dim and warm from their shared body heat. Behind her, Layla slept in her car seat, her small chest rising and falling softly beneath her blanket. The sheer innocence of the sight made Josie's throat close even tighter.

Seth softened his grip but didn't pull away.

"Who's Mark?" he asked. "Your husband?"

Josie's lips trembled, but before she could answer, a small, sleepy voice cut through the tension.

"Mark's my daddy."

Layla rubbed her eyes, blinking at them both from her car seat, Mr. Ranger dangling from one hand by a worn ear.

Seth froze, caught off-guard by the bright, matter-of-fact tone of a child.

Josie drew in a shaky breath and turned toward her daughter, brushing Layla's hair back with an unsteady hand.

"Yes, baby," she whispered. "Daddy."

Layla, oblivious to the ache in her mother's voice, smiled softly and curled back into her blankets, asleep again within moments.

She didn't remember the sickness, the panic, or the night everything ended.

Josie would have given anything to forget that, easily.

Seth watched her with quiet understanding—not pushing, not prying, just present. His gaze carried a haunted look she recognized, the quiet weight of a grief she knew all too well.

Josie wiped her eyes and managed a tight, grateful smile.

"Thanks," she said. "For pulling me out."

Seth nodded once, steady as ever.

"Anytime."

"We need to find a pull-off," Seth said into the radio.

His voice was level, but Jay caught the edge beneath it. The days ran longer now, but nowhere near long enough.

Jay clicked his radio. "Yeah. Keep a lookout. It's getting dark fast."

Cara leaned forward against her seatbelt as if the extra inches might help her see farther, but the road had already turned a dusky purple, the forest pressing close on either side.

Behind them in Beast, Seth checked his rearview mirror again. Layla sat buckled securely in the back seat, her head tipped sideways against her bear, while Josie kept her eyes fixed on the passing wilderness, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against her knee.

Jay slowed as they rounded a bend, scanning for anything usable—an old driveway, a rest stop, any patch of ground wide enough to hide two SUVs and two trailers from the road.

Cara pointed suddenly. "There—up on the right. Looks like an old logging pull-off."

Jay spotted it: a break in the trees, barely noticeable unless you were searching for it, overgrown and uneven but deep enough to conceal them. He flicked on the blinker—pure habit, pointless now—and pulled the SUV off the pavement.

Static crackled, then Seth's voice: "That'll do. I'll park beside you."

Jay maneuvered to the back of the clearing and tucked their vehicle behind a fallen pine. Seth pulled Beast in beside him, angling it so both windshields faced the narrow entrance—a defensive setup that had become automatic somewhere along the way, so ingrained neither man needed to mention it.

When the engines shut off, an absolute silence swept in.

Jay opened his door but stayed seated a moment longer, listening. Only wind. A distant bird call. The slow tick of cooling engines.

Cara unbuckled and pulled her coat on. "We should keep lights low.," she murmured.