Page 64 of Only the Hunter

When I check the locks and lights, I pass through the open bedroom doors on my way to the bathroom, and stop when I see she’s already asleep. Her breath is slow, barely perceptible. Her body twists beneath the sheets, angled slightly toward the door—like she wants to be aware of what’s out there, of what, or whom, might enter the room.

I stand there longer than I should, watching the rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her hand rests palm-up on the pillow. At peace in a way she never is awake.

Beside her, on the bedside table, is a phone, a tablet, and a pen. The tools of her trade. The items she might need during the night.

After going to the bathroom, I exit and pull the bedroom doors closed.

I sit on the edge of the sofa longer than I should, given that I need to sleep, listening to the city settle and sensing her presence in the adjacent room.

I remind myself that whatever we find tomorrow—whatever waits in the mountains—my priority is her safety. Not how she looked curled in that chair. Not how it felt to sit across from her in the near-dark, close enough to reach for her and disciplined enough not to.

My priority is keeping her alive.

The rest doesn’t matter.

If anything is meant to happen between us, it’ll happen when the timing is right.

My team sees Evie’s case as proof of corruption at the highest levels. They want to root it out, expose it, clean the system. I do too—but my priority isn’t institutional. It’s personal. Evie’s too stubborn to care that she’s walking into a high-risk situation. She won’t pull back. Won’t stop.

That knowledge gnaws at me. When I finally lie down, sleep is evasive.

Morning comes hard and cold.

The cogwheel train station is quieter than Geneva proper, the crowd thinned by altitude and purpose. Fewer tourists. More locals. Everyone dressed with respect for the weather.

Evie stands beside me on the platform, coat zipped to her chin, gloved hands tucked into her pockets, breath visible in the cold. The bruises from the wreck are mostly faded now, her skin bright from the cold rather than yesterday’s pallor. If she slept badly, she’s better at hiding it this morning than she was on the plane.

I catch myself noticing the line of her chin, the curve of her lips, the way the cold brings color to her cheeks, and force my attention back to the train schedule board.

She’s vibrant—fully present in the moment, focus sharpened by proximity to answers. There’s no hesitation. No uncertainty.

The train pulls in with a metallic groan, steam fogging the air.

As we board, I sense the impending shift—not just in terrain, but in stakes. Geneva was the wash cycle—clean surfaces, dead ends, a system built to erase rather than reveal.

Where we’re going next is quieter.

Higher.

And much harder to leave once you arrive.

An ideal location to hold someone captive.

If extraction is needed, it’ll be a one-man show. I’ll need to evaluate feasibility. Locate a safe space for Evie. Likely fight her to keep her there.

Evie takes the window seat. I sit across from her, knees braced against the narrow space between us. Close enough that if she shifted forward, our legs would touch.

I study the train car instead of the woman across from me. I note exits. Passengers. Contingencies.

Anything but her.

Outside, the city begins to slide away—glass and steel giving way to rocks, trees, and snow.

Evie’s hopeful we’ll find Lina, healthy and safe. She wants to ensure she isn’t there against her will. That the trauma the FBI rescued her from hasn’t simply changed shape.

I’m on board with all of that. But I’m on edge because we’re headed somewhere no one was meant to look.

And we’re about to arrive.