Chapter 63

Sleep lasts barely an hour.

My eyes flutter open to the low hum of the forest and the rhythmic pulse of a heartbeat beneath my cheek—deep, steady, familiar. I stretch, slow and deliberate, muscles taut and sore from anxiety and strain. I'm still nestled in Silas’s arms, his body curled protectively around mine. He hasn’t moved much, only shifted to support me better. His sharp gaze remains fixed on the trees beyond the balcony, every muscle in his body alert.

Always on guard. Always watching.

"It shouldn’t be long now," I murmur, my voice rough and dry.

He glances down at me, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. "You could’ve slept more. I’ve been watching over you." He leans down and brushes a kiss against my temple, soft and warm. It leaves tingles in its wake.

"I’m surprised I slept at all," I admit, yawning as I pull away from his embrace. "My anxiety isn’t exactly generous these days." I stretch, trying to shake off the grogginess and dread that coils in my belly. "Are you hungry? I need something to eat."

Silas rises behind me and follows me through the sliding door into the quiet sanctuary of the lake house.

"That’d be great, Angel. I’ll help," he says, his voice soft but steady.

In the kitchen, I open the fridge and sort through what little we have. My stomach twists, not from hunger, but from tension. Still, the idea of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich comforts me—familiar, simple. Something normal in the middle of this madness.

Silas excuses himself to the bathroom while I search for bread. The quiet stretches on. The tick of the old clock above the pantry echoes through the house. My fingers brush the cold wood of the cabinet door when a sudden chill crawls up my spine.

A weight settles behind me. Not physical—but heavy, like breath on the nape of my neck that makes my hairs stand on end.

I freeze.

The air grows dense. Stagnant. My breathing becomes shallow.

I turn, heart pounding. The house is empty and see nothing out the balcony window. Still. But something is wrong. Immensely wrong.

I slowly turn to the sink and look out the window. The shadows outside are deep, tangled with branches and the gleam of moonlight. Then I see them.

Eyes.

Huge. Glowing. Predatory. Watching.

They gleam through the darkness, massive and unblinking, just beyond the tree line. A sick chill blooms in my chest and my stomach begins to heave. The instant they realize I see them, they vanish—slipping back into the shadows like a nightmare inhales and absorbed back into the forest.

But the damage is done.

They know where I am.

I stand there, breath shallow, mind racing.

Footsteps pad behind me. Silas. He stops cold when he sees me—rigid, white-knuckled, clutching a loaf of bread like it is the last thread of my sanity.

"What is it?" he asks, already on high alert, his voice sharp.

I point to the window, voice trembling. "There were eyes. Watching me. Just… staring. Then they disappeared. I think they know."

Silas doesn’t hesitate. He disappears to the other side of the house like a storm on legs, checking every window, every angle of the surrounding woods. I’m left alone in the kitchen, numb, and mind spiraling.

This was the plan. We knew they'd come. We just didn’t know when.

Still trembling, I go through the motions—sandwiches, methodical, mechanical. Anything to distract from the overwhelming sense of dread. The memories that took every ounce of my being to process and handle, now threaten to eat me alive.

He returns after a few minutes and finds me still staring, caught in my own head. His hand slides over mine, warm and grounding.

"Hey," he says gently. "There’s nothing else out there. No one close enough to sense anymore. I won’t let him touch you. Ever again?"

I let the knife fall from my fingers, and it clatters to the countertop. Without thinking, I turn and bury myself in his arms. My whole body quakes.

He holds me tighter. "We’ll be rid of him soon," he murmurs into my hair.

His words settle something inside me. I breathe. Slowly. Sharply. After some time, I pull back just enough to finish making the sandwiches, my hands are steadier now.

From the cabinets, I find a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.

"Perfect," I whisper.

We take our plates to the couch and sit side by side, eating in silence. The quiet is thick, dense with anticipation. These are our last moments of calm before the storm. And we both know it.

Moonlight spills through the wide windows, casting long shadows that crawl across the floor like waiting hands. Every creak of the house, every gust of wind outside makes me twitch.

Silas eats like a soldier—quick, efficient, eyes constantly flicking to the windows.

"When do you think they’ll come?" I ask between small bites.

He checks his phone. "Dawn. Give or take an hour. I’ll send Alaric a heads up."

I glance at the clock. "It’s 2:20 now. So we’ve got… three or four hours?"

He nods, typing quickly. "Not much time."

"Should we somehow prep for them?”

"No. If they suspect it’s a trap, they might not show. It has to look like you are vulnerable. Alone. Unaware."

I exhale slowly. "I hate this. I hate waiting."

He looks at me, concern flickering in his eyes. "Try to rest after this. Just a little."

"I’ll try," I lie. "But it’s unlikely."

His eyes narrow. "If I have to, I’ll use one of my tricks to knock you out."

I arch a brow. "You have way too much faith in your abilities."

He smirks, tossing a chip into his mouth. "You’ve seen firsthand what my body’s capable of. I can knock you out in ways you like."

A reluctant laugh bubbles from my throat. Despite everything, he always finds a way to make me smile.

We finish eating. Silas pulls me into his lap again, arms folding around me like armor. He gently strokes my hair, fingers combing through the strands with a tenderness that makes my throat tighten.

I lean into him, resting my ear against his chest, listening to his heart. Its rhythm is constant. Steady. Familiar.

I don’t know what I would do without him. Without this.

In the chaos that surrounds us, he is my sanctuary.

Outside, the night thickens. A breeze stirs the trees, rustling the leaves like whispers. Somewhere in the distance, a pack of coyotes scream—short, maniacal sounds.

Despite the danger coiled just beyond the walls of this lack house, this moment—this strange, fragile peace—is something I’ll hold onto. When the morning comes, blood will spill. Screams will echo through the trees. Not everyone will survive.

But right now, I have him.

His warmth. His protection. His unwavering love.

And I will take it. Cling to it. Even if only for a few more hours.

Because soon, my sword of justice will take heads.

Somehow, despite the churning of my anxiety and the sharp edge of nerves coiled tight beneath my skin—the steady rhythm of his heartbeat below my cheek lulls me into calm. Each slow, careful stroke of his hand through my hair eases the tightness from my muscles, coaxing me into surrender. Against all odds, and with chaos looming just beyond these lake house walls, I doze off again, wrapped in the warmth of him and the fragile sense of safety.