The Quite Ridge

Chapter 13- Sadie

The drive back felt quieter than it should have. Not peaceful. Not calm. Just… quiet in a way that made every sound stand out more. The tires on the road. The shift of gravel when I turned. The low hum of the engine filling space that didn’t feel empty anymore. I checked the mirror. Nothing. I checked it again anyway. Still nothing. That didn’t mean anything. It never did.

The cabin came into view through the trees, the same as the night before. Dark. Still. Waiting. I pulled in slower this time, letting my eyes move across everything before I cut the engine. No lights. No movement. No one. My grip tightened slightly on the wheel before I forced myself to let go. This was fine.

I grabbed my bag and stepped out, locking the car behind me without thinking about it. The air felt heavier than it had yesterday, like the night carried something with it that I couldn’t see. The door opened and shut behind me, the lock clicking into place louder than it should have in the silence. Inside, everything looked the same. Nothing moved. Nothing out of place. I set my bag down, moving through the space, turning on the same lamp as the night before. I didn’t want the whole place lit up. Just enough. I told myself to relax. To stop. To let it go. It didn’t work.

For a second, without meaning to, my mind went back to that morning. The parking lot. The way he stood there like he had nowhere else to be, like nothing needed to be rushed. Like he didn’t need to fill space to control it. My grip tightened slightly. It didn’t belong here. None of that did. But it stayed anyway. The way his sleeves had been pushed up just enough to show the edge of ink along his arm. Dark lines disappearing under fabric like there was more I couldn’t see. Like it didn’t end there. My breath shifted slightly. I hadn’t looked long enough to make sense of it. Just enough to notice. And somehow— that made it worse. Because now my mind filled in the rest on its own. More ink. More lines. More of him hidden under everything he kept controlled.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my shoulders to relax. This wasn’t the time. Not the place. But the thought didn’t leave. The way he carried himself. Solid. Grounded. Like nothing around him moved unless he let it. Like if something came at him— it wouldn’t end the same way. My chest tightened. Not fear. Not exactly. Something heavier. Something I didn’t trust. I pushed it away. Hard. Because thinking about him— felt too close to thinking about what I didn’t have control over.

My phone buzzed. I froze. The sound hit instantly, sharp and familiar in a way that made my chest tighten before I even reached for it. Slowly, I picked it up.

Unknown number.

Again.

My thumb hovered over the screen, my pulse already picking up before I even opened it. I shouldn’t. I knew that. I opened it anyway.

You always did like running.

My breath caught, my grip tightening around the phone. No. No, he didn’t know where I was. He couldn’t.

Another message came through before I could think.

How far do you think you made it this time?

Everything in me went cold. This wasn’t random. This wasn’t guessing. This was him. I turned toward the window without thinking, my eyes scanning the dark outside like I expected to see something looking back. Nothing. Just trees. Just shadows. But it didn’t feel empty. It felt watched.

My breathing shifted, too fast, too shallow.

“He doesn’t know where you are,” I said under my breath.

The words didn’t sound as steady as they should have. The phone buzzed again. I flinched.

Another message.

You always forget how this ends.

My hand shook slightly as I stared at the screen. He didn’t know. He couldn’t. But the words— they felt too close. Too specific. Too familiar.

I backed away from the window, my eyes moving across the room, checking everything again without meaning to. The door. The locks. The corners that hadn’t changed since I walked in. Still— it didn’t feel safe.

The cabin feels smaller now. Closer. Like the walls had shifted in just enough to notice. My grip tightened around the phone as I stood there, not moving, not breathing right, not thinking clearly.

And for the second night in a row— I knew this wasn’t over.

Not even close.