The following morning, the cabin wore a false mask of peace. Sunlight broke through the fog at last, pouring through the tall windows in golden shafts, glinting on the frost outside. For a moment, the woods looked almost beautiful—innocent, untouched.
But beauty was a lie.
Inside, silence held us hostage.
Daniel moved through the rooms with an unnerving stillness, his eyes lingering on me too long, his presence too heavy. Every sip of coffee, every turn of a page in his book, felt deliberate—calculated. Like he was waiting for something.
Like he already knew.
I busied myself with meaningless chores—folding blankets, sweeping floors, washing dishes that weren’t even dirty—just to keep my hands from shaking. But no matter what I did, I felt his eyes on me, sharp as glass.
By noon, the
