Page 50 of Sick(ness)

And just like that, he was gone, swallowed by the woods as if he’d never been there at all.

Addy’s pulse roared in her ears. For a long second, she stayed frozen, half-convinced she’d imagined it. But the way her stomach twisted told her she hadn’t.

“Sawyer!” she called, her voice cracking.

When he didn’t answer immediately, panic surged. She spun, nearly tripping over the chair as she bolted for the door. She flung it open as Sawyer rounded the corner of the cabin, his rifle slung over one shoulder and his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What is it? What happened?”

“There was…” She struggled for breath. “A man. Out there. Watching us. I swear I saw him. He … disappeared into the woods.”

Sawyer’s expression shifted instantly, calm giving way to focus. He stepped past her and scanned the treeline, his posture tense.

“Where?”

“By the lake. Near the pines.”

He lifted the rifle and sighted down the barrel, eyes narrowing as he swept the area. Nothing moved except the slow ripple of mist curling off the water.

Addy stood behind him, shivering despite the coat she’d thrown on. “You believe me, right?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, still watching. “I believe you.”

He lowered the rifle, his jaw tightening. “Pack up anything we can’t afford to lose. If someone’s out there, they are aware this place isn’t empty anymore. We need to be ready to move quickly.”

Addy experienced the heaviness that resided in her chest like a stone. Whatever peace they’d built here, whatever fragile sense of safety they’d allowed themselves, was already cracking.

And somewhere in the trees, hidden slightly beyond the reach of sight, someone else was now aware they existed.

* * *

Sawyer moved quietly through the trees, his boots barely crunching over the thin crust of frost. The cold air bit at his cheeks, but he welcomed it; it helped him think.

He stopped near the pines where Addy said she’d seen the man. The ground was soft here, shadows pooling where the trees grew thicker. He crouched low, scanning the soil until he found what he was looking for: faint impressions in the frost, each step heavy and deliberate. Someone had been standing there, exactly as she had said.

He followed the prints a few paces before they disappeared into the harder ground beyond the treeline. Whoever it was knew what they were doing: how to move quietly, how to leave no trail. That alone told Sawyer this wasn’t some lost straggler.

He scanned the woods again, senses stretched thin. The stillness here wasn’t natural; it was the kind that came when something else had already taken notice.

Sawyer’s jaw tightened. He’d seen this kind of thing before: the watch, the retreat, the patience that came before a strike. In war zones, in failed cities, in the gray space between order and collapse. The faces changed, but the instincts didn’t.

He adjusted his grip on the rifle, forcing a slow breath out through his nose. The problem wasn’t simply the stranger; it was what the stranger represented. A reminder that isolation wasn’t safety; it was exposure with a longer fuse.

But beneath that cold calculation sat something else. Addy’s face, pale, wide-eyed, afraid, kept flashing through his mind. He’d never meant to let himself care, not in this world. Attachment got people killed. It blurred the line between decision and hesitation, between doing what had to be done and what you longed to do instead.

Yet, somewhere along the quiet days and colder nights, she’d worked her way past his walls. Her laugh. The stubborn set of her jaw when she tried to prove she was capable enough to handle herself. The way she still looked for light in a broken world.

He rubbed his jaw, muttering under his breath. “Damn it, Sawyer. You’re slipping.”

Caring meant risk. He knew that better than anyone else. But he also knew he didn’t have the ability to stop now, not after everything they’d survived together.

He crouched again, scanning the area one last time before heading back. No fresh sound. No movement. The forest was watching, yes, but silent for now.

By the time he reached the cabin, the smoke from the chimney was curling faintly into the sky, and he watched Addy through the window, pacing near the table.

She’d tried to hide the fear in her eyes when he’d left, but he’d seen it anyway. And the truth was that fear didn’t scare him; it anchored him. It reminded him that there was still something worth protecting.

He stepped up onto the porch, checked over his shoulder one last time, and quickly slipped inside. Addy turned immediately, eyes searching his face for answers.