Page 20 of Torin

I follow her toward the cabin. Pine needles have gathered along the porch. A row of neglected flowerpots sits beside the front steps, the plants yellowed and drooping over the rims.

I reach the porch first and try the handle.

Locked.

Behind me, Hannah sets down her bag and pulls out her phone.

She scrolls for a second, reading. Then she goes over to one of the old flowerpots beside the steps. She lifts it and retrieves a key.

I step aside and she unlocks the door.

A smell of dust and old wood rushes out. A house that’s been shut up for a while. I pick up the scent of an older human male, but he hasn’t been around for a long time.

Hannah steps inside and finds a light switch. Warm yellow light fills the space.

From the doorway, I take in a small living room with a sofa and armchair. A kitchen beyond.

“You’re good,” I tell her.

She gives me a questioning glance.

“No one’s been here for a long time.”

“You sure?”

“Yup.”

Her shoulders loosen.

Under the porch light, I get my first proper look at her injuries. Her nose is swollen, dried blood streaks her face, and she’s moving carefully, like every step hurts.

I want to go inside. Get her some ice. Find out where else she’s hurt and make damn sure she’s okay.

But she already told me she doesn’t want to be alone with a strange man. So, I stay where I am.

“You need anything before I go?”

She seems surprised by the question. “No. I’m good.”

“Okay. You’ve got my number if that changes.”

“I don’t have your number.”

“Huh.”

I consider that. “That does make it less useful.”

The corner of her mouth twitches.

I grin.

She hands me her phone, and I add my number before giving it back.

“Get some rest.”

“I’ll try.”

“Okay.” I turn and walk back to my truck⁠—