I woke up to the smell of damp wood and smoke, and for two long, panicked seconds, I had no idea where I was. My eyelids felt like they were glued shut. My body felt like it had been thrown—not gently—through a blender.
Then the memories slammed back into me:
The sedan.
The headlights.
The crash.
The way the world spun like some sick amusement park ride.
I jolted upright with a gasp.
“Easy,” Cole’s voice said beside me—quiet, rough, warm. “You’re safe. For now.”
Safe.
Right.
That word practically didn’t exist in our vocabulary anymore.
I blinked until the blurry shapes sharpened into an old cabin—tiny, dust-coated, with a lantern that flickered like even it was scared to be here. A fire crackled weakly in a stove across the room.
“Where are we?” I whispered.
“A hunting cabin.
