Chapter Forty-Three
Brooklyn
The world doesn’t feel real.
It feels balanced.
Like something delicate and breakable is sitting on the edge of a blade, waiting to tip.
I keep my eyes on Jackson.
Not moving.
Barely breathing.
Afraid that if I blink, he will vanish like a dream I desperately tried to hold onto.
He stands across the clearing, still as the trees around us. His breath comes in slow clouds, each one shaking just slightly. His eyes stay locked on mine, like he is memorizing every detail, verifying I am not a hallucination conjured by hope and exhaustion.
I want to run to him.
My body screams for it.
Every muscle aches for it.
But I don’t move.
Because something is wrong.
Caleb feels it first.
I see it in the shift of his shoulders — the barely there tightening, the subtle way he angles himself just enough to be closer to me without blocking my sightline.
Not threatening.
Guarding.
Protecting.
But not from Jackson.
From the forest.
From what is inside it.
Jackson hasn’t looked away from me — not even once — but he knows it too.
His hand has lowered, slowly, carefully, toward the weapon at his hip. Not pulling it. Not yet. Just acknowledging the potential need.
Acknowledging the presence of danger neither of us can see.
The silence changes — it becomes colder, sharper. More intentional.
Not absence.
Observation.
Something is watching.
Not animal.
Not random.
Not lost.
A predator who has switched from pursuit to patience.
Waiting for someone to make the first mistake.
My pulse thrums in my throat, choking. Not fear for me — fear for this moment. Fear of the world collapsing right before we reach each other.
I whisper Jackson’s name—Or I think I do. It comes out as breath, not sound.
His jaw trembles.
His voice is barely a sound, but I hear it anyway, “Brooklyn.”
Not a call.
Not a shout.
Not even a whisper.
Just my name said like a prayer he wasn’t sure he’d get to speak again.
I take one slow step toward him—Caleb touches my arm.
Just his fingertips.
Light.
Not stopping me.
Warning.
I freeze.
The woods to our right shift — almost imperceptibly.
Not rustling.
Not footsteps.
Just attention.
A gaze.
A mind.
A presence that recognizes risk in this moment.
The hunter knows Jackson is here now.
He knows I am not alone.
I swallow, throat raw. “He’s close,” I breathe.
Jackson’s eyes harden, all emotion still present — but something else rises to the surface: focus sharper than fear. Determination forged into something ruthless.
The detective.
The man who tracks monsters.
But this monster has teeth in the dark.
Caleb murmurs, so low it might be soundless:
“Don’t break the stillness. He reacts to movement.”
He.
No name.
No shape.
No face.
Just a shadow that has shaped my nightmares long before I understood why.
Jackson’s fingers flex near his weapon.
Caleb’s stance lowers — quiet, ready, expert in a way that tells me he has faced things like this before. Or something close. Not this exact terror, but predators all the same.
My heart beats so hard it hurts.
I whisper, “What do we do?”
Caleb’s eyes don’t leave the treeline. “We listen.”
So we do.
The forest stretches wide around us — trees spaced far enough to see between them but close enough to hide anything that wants to stay hidden. The air is so cold it tastes metallic in my mouth.
At first — I hear nothing.
Then — the smallest shift of snow. Soft. Deliberate.
Not behind us.
Not to the side.
In front.
Near Jackson.
My chest tightens, panic swelling so fast it feels like drowning. “Jackson—”
He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t turn.
Doesn’t look away from me.
He simply shifts his stance — millimeters — positioning his body slightly sideways to present less target and more control.
He’s done this before.
He’s been trained for this.
Caleb exhales slowly through his nose, like he approves.
Another small sound — closer now.
Too close.
Not panicked movement. Not blind stumbling.
Tracking.
The hunter has seen Jackson.
And he is not afraid.
Jackson speaks — quietly, steady, to Caleb, without looking at him, “You have her?”
Caleb nods once, “I have her.”
Something inside me breaks at those words — not from fear, but from the way they settle in my chest like safety I haven’t felt in weeks.
Jackson’s eyes flick to me again, and the emotion there almost knocks me to my knees.
Love.
Fear.
Regret.
Rage.
Hope.
All tangled and raw.
“Brooklyn,” he says, voice rough, “I need you to stay behind him.”
I shake my head — not in refusal, just in disbelief at the terror of the moment.
“I can’t lose you,” I whisper.
“You’re not going to.”
His voice doesn’t shake.
His hands don’t tremble.
He is steady.
Unbreakable.
But his eyes shine like something inside him has already shattered.
Then—A whisper of movement. Closer. So close my breath catches.
Caleb’s hand lifts slightly — not to touch me — but to signal readiness.
Jackson sees it too.
The forest holds its breath…
…and the world narrows to the space between trees.
No one speaks.
No one moves.
No one gives the hunter the moment he wants — the mistake, the lunge, the opening.
We wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Until the cold burns and the fear becomes so sharp it feels like fire.
And then — a raven calls overhead, loud and sudden, its wings cutting the silence like a scream.
The moment breaks.
Not with violence.
With decision.
Caleb’s voice is quiet, controlled, "We move together.”
Jackson nods — just once.
Our eyes meet again — and this time, something in him softens.
Not relief.
Not safety.
Promise.
We step forward.
Two lines converging.
Two paths stitching back together.
But the forest does not release us.
Because the hunter follows.
Silent.
Waiting.
Watching.
And this time — he is no longer chasing from behind.
He is circling ahead.
The reunion is not over.
The danger is not done.
Love found me.
And the monster refuses to let go.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
