The cabin was not large, but to Emily it felt endless in its quiet. The walls were rough pine, patched and scarred, holding the scent of old wood and smoke. Outside, the wind prowled around the mountain slopes, rattling loose shutters and bending the trees until their branches scraped the roof. Inside, the fire in the stone hearth was the only heartbeat. The flames stretched and curled, bright tongues licking upward before breaking into sparks that hissed into the chimney.
Emily sat curled into a chair opposite the fire, her knees drawn close. A chipped mug warmed her hands, the bitter smell of black tea rising with the steam. The drink steadied her, though not as much as she wanted. Every nerve still felt raw from the last days—Lang’s questions, the attempt on her life, the morgue. She w
