Melting ice

A trap

*Ava*

Rasmus finds out because he hears Caleb say the word ferry.

I am standing at the kitchen counter with Detective Morales on speakerphone, holding my phone so tightly the edge presses a red line into my palm. Ginnie sits at the table with her legal pad, writing names and times in purple ink. Caleb has Butterscotch by the collar near the porch door, though the dog has done nothing except breathe loudly and look hopeful.

Rasmus comes down the hall on one crutch.

"Ferry dock?" he asks.

Nobody answers quickly enough.

His eyes go to my screen, then to Morales's name. The expression on his face closes.

"Ava."

"Morales has a plan."

"I heard the location."

I sigh, "You heard one word."

"I heard enough."

The detective clears her throat through the phone. "Mr. Dahlin, we will have officers positioned around the dock. Ms. Riley will be wired. We are looking to document contact and make an arrest based on the existing evidence."

Rasmus grips the crutch handle. "She should not be there."

"I agree," I say. "I also need him to understand that I will not disappear because he tells me to."

His gaze finds mine. The kitchen feels too small. His hair is still damp from the shower, and there is a faint crease between his brows that makes him look younger than he ever does on the ice.

"I can come," he says.

"No."

"I do not have to be close. I can wait in the car."

I shake my head, "No."

"Ava."

"Your back is hurting, you are supposed to be resting, and this is a police operation. You cannot stand behind me every time something frightens you."

The words leave me before I can soften them.

His face changes.

I mean every time something frightens me. I mean I do not know what it does to me when he looks as though he would break himself trying to make me safe.

Rasmus looks down at the floorboards. "I am not frightened."

"Then stop making that face."

A short laugh escapes Caleb. It dies immediately when Rasmus looks at him.

Ginnie sets down her pen. "Rasmus, I need you to listen very carefully. Ava is not asking permission. She is telling us what she has chosen."

"I know." His voice is quiet. "I do not like it."

"Neither do I," Ginnie says. "But we can dislike things in a coordinated manner."

Morales gives her the smallest sound of approval through the speaker.

I take a breath. "I will meet him by the harbor steps. I will keep him talking. If he touches me, threatens me, or admits he has been following me, you move in."

"We will move when we have probable cause," Morales says. "You do not need to wait for a specific sentence. If you feel unsafe, use the phrase we discussed."

I look at the black screen of my phone.

"I understand."

Rasmus watches me put the phone down.

"I saved everything," I say.

The room stills.

"I saved every message. Every number he used. The screenshot from outside my apartment. I wrote down the sedan plate before I convinced myself I was being dramatic." My throat feels dry. "I made a folder and hid it inside a medical textbook app because I did not want anyone seeing it."

Ginnie's face softens.

Rasmus does not move.

"I knew something was wrong," I continue. "I just kept thinking if I had enough proof, I would feel less stupid for being scared."

"You were never stupid," he says.

His accent thickens around the words. He sounds angry, though not at me.

I nod once because I cannot answer without losing the practical part of myself I need for the next hour.

By dusk, the harbor is crowded with tourists taking photographs of the Ravenel Bridge and children chasing each other along the waterfront. The air smells like salt, diesel, and fried seafood from a restaurant across the street. Ferry lights flicker across the water.

I wear jeans, a plain black shirt, and the small microphone taped beneath my collar.

Morales had wanted me to bring an officer in plain clothes as a friend. I refused. Ethan expects me alone. A stranger at my shoulder would change the shape of it.

Ginnie waits two blocks away in Caleb's truck, tracking the officers through a shared location app and pretending she is not doing either. Caleb sits behind the wheel. Butterscotch is in the backseat, whining softly because he has sensed a crisis and been denied involvement.

Rasmus is supposed to be at the beach house.

That does not keep me from looking toward every parked car anyway.

At 7:14, Ethan Vale comes down the stone steps from East Bay Street.

He is taller than I expected. Clean-shaven. Khaki pants, navy button-down, expensive watch. The ordinary details make my stomach twist.

He stops a few feet away.

"You came," he says.

I keep my hands loose at my sides. "You told me you needed to see me."

"I did." His gaze drops to my mouth, then back up. "You made this into a whole thing."

"The messages. The car outside my home. The rink today. Those were choices you made."

His mouth tightens. "I wanted to talk."

"You followed me."

"You ignored me."

I almost groan, "I canceled a date."

"You acted like I was dangerous."

My pulse is hard and fast, but I hear myself clearly. Facts. Dates. Behavior.

"I told you no on February sixth. You sent me eleven messages after that. You waited outside my home on February ninth. You trashed my car. You followed me to the rink today."

His face flushes.

"You do not get to stand there and list things like I am some criminal."

"I am listing what happened."

"You think you are better than people." He steps closer. "You always did. You canselled one dinner with me and suddenly I am beneath you."

I smell mint on his breath. It makes the moment horribly intimate.

"Stay where you are," I say.

He laughs once. "What, you are going to call your hockey boyfriend?"

The words strike low in my body, tangled with fear and anger.

"That is not relevant."

"There it is." His voice sharpens. "You were never busy. You just wanted somebody prettier. Somebody famous."

I look at him and feel something settle.

He has spent weeks trying to make me doubt my own memory, my own caution, my right to step away. He wants me flustered. Apologetic. Small enough to manage.

I am tired of giving him any version of that.

"I am leaving now," I say. "Do not follow me."

He reaches for my wrist.

His fingers close around me.

"Let go," I say.

His grip tightens.

"Let go of me."

"Ms. Riley, step away from him."

Morales's voice cuts through the harbor noise.

Ethan turns. Two officers move in from the path near the fountain. Another comes from the curb behind him. He drops my wrist too late.

For one second, he looks at me as though I have betrayed him.

Then he starts talking fast.

"This is insane. She asked to meet me. She texted me."

Morales takes his arm and turns him toward the railing. "You are under arrest for stalking and harassment. You have the right to remain silent."

He protests while they cuff him. He says I am overreacting. He says he only wanted closure. His voice carries over the water until the patrol car door closes.

Then it is gone.

I stand beside the harbor steps with my arms folded tightly across my chest.

Morales comes back after the car pulls away. Her face is steady, but her voice is gentler.

"You did well."

My body chooses that moment to start shaking.

"I think," I say, then stop. My teeth are chattering. "I think I need to sit down."

She guides me to a bench facing the water.

Across the street, Caleb's truck door opens.

Rasmus gets out of the passenger side.

Of course he does.

He moves carefully, one hand braced against the truck, pain written across his face despite his effort to hide it. Caleb stays behind him, looking furious in several directions at once.

I should be angry.

Instead, when Rasmus reaches the bench, I look at his outstretched hand and take it.

His palm is warm. He does not pull me closer. He only holds on while my breathing turns uneven.

"I am sorry," he says quietly. "I wanted to help you."

"You came anyway."

"Yes."

I look out at the black water. "The prosecutor will file in the morning. Morales said the evidence is enough to move forward."

Rasmus squeezes my hand once.

The relief is not clean. It leaves bruises behind.

But Ethan is gone.

And for the first time in weeks, I do not feel him standing somewhere just outside the light.