Page 5

The woods are quiet except for the wind moving through the branches and the occasional bird call. Kieran reappears a minute later from the other side of the house.

"Looks clear," he says. "Let me check inside."

I unlock the door and he goes in ahead of me. The cottage has just three rooms. A main living space with a kitchenette and wood stove, a bedroom, and a tiny bathroom. It takes him less than a minute to confirm it's empty.

"You've got good locks," he says, testing the deadbolt on the front door. "But the back door's pretty flimsy. You might want to get a security bar for it."

"Okay."

He turns to face me, and we're standing close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

This close, I can see the lines at the corners of those eyes, the silver starting to thread through his beard. He's older than me. Maybe late thirties, early forties.

"You have my number?" he asks.

"No."

He pulls a card from his wallet and writes something on the back before handing it to me. "Station's on the front. My cell's on the back. You call if you need anything, I don't care what time it is."

I look down at the card. His handwriting is the same neat print from the station. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." There's an edge in his voice. "I haven't dealt with him yet."

"Do you think he'll actually leave?"

"I think he'll try not to. But I'll make sure he understands what happens if he doesn't."

I want to ask what that means, but I don't. Instead, I just nod and tuck the card into my pocket.

Kieran moves toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the frame. He looks back at me, and there's something in his expression I can't quite read.

"You said you didn’t have people here," he says. "Friends or family."

"Yeah."

"Well, you do now."

The words land somewhere in my chest, unexpected and solid. I stare at him, and he holds my gaze for a moment longer before stepping out onto the porch.

"Lock this behind me," he says. "And call if you need anything."

Then he's gone, walking back to his truck with that same unhurried stride.

I watch through the window as he drives away, leaves crunching under his tires.

The cottage feels very quiet after he leaves.

I sink onto the couch and pull out his card, running my thumb over the handwritten number on the back.

Outside, the afternoon light is starting to fade. The temperature is dropping, and I should get the wood stove going, but I can't seem to make myself move.

I look down at the card again, at Kieran's number written in delicate print, and wonder if he meant what he said. If I really do have someone here now, or if that was just the kind of thing people say when they're trying to be kind.

My hands are still shaking slightly. I press them flat against my thighs and take a slow breath.

Trevor is still out there. That hasn't changed.

But for the first time in months, I don't feel completely alone.