Mr. Stranger

The cabin looked the same. Same crooked porch, same rusted lantern by the door, same way it sank slightly on one side like it, too, had lost its balance. Aria stood there in the freezing cold, clutching the keys James had left her in his will, trying to breathe through the dull ache in her chest that had become her permanent companion. She told herself this would help, getting away, hiding out in the woods where memories couldn’t find her so easily. But they were already here, slithering up the back of her throat and making it hard to swallow. This place was supposed to be their haven. Their secret spot. A cabin for lazy weekends, hot chocolate, and maybe... maybe a night like tonight. The night she’d finally planned to experiment with the things she never had the nerve to ask for. James had been kind. Too kind. Gentle in a way that sometimes made her feel like he was touching glass, not flesh. And she had been grateful for that. But there were moments, quiet, aching moments, when she wanted to be shattered. Just a little. And now he was gone. She pushed the door open. The air was warm. Which was wrong. It smelled like pine and coffee. Her heart froze in her chest before she could step inside. Someone was already here. She took a cautious step forward, her eyes scanning the living room. The fireplace crackled, a backpack lay by the couch, and then— "You came," said a low, familiar voice. Aria turned sharply, her breath catching. Rowan. Tall, sharp edges, messy hair that fell across his forehead. He looked exactly the way he had the day she met him at the hospital. The last day James was alive. He’d been quiet, unreadable. The last person to see James alive. She tightened her grip on the doorframe. “What are you doing here?” He lifted his hands, slow, like she was a frightened animal. “James said I could stay here. Just for a while. Before...” Before he died. She finished the sentence for him but didn’t say it aloud. He looked older than she remembered. Or maybe grief had made her see everything darker. “I’ll be gone tomorrow,” he added quickly. “Just needed a place to crash for the night. A storm's coming.” Aria’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t move. Didn’t trust him. Couldn’t. There had been questions. Things that didn’t line up. Rowan had been with James that night. The investigation had ended far too quickly. Too cleanly. She had suspicions. Ugly, buried ones. She hadn't voiced them, not even to herself. But they were there, crawling just beneath the surface of her skin every time she saw Rowan’s face. “You’re sleeping on the couch,” she said finally, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “And you’re gone in the morning.” He nodded. “Deal.” She dropped her bag by the armchair and sank into the silence of the cabin. Outside, the storm started to pick up. Snow hissed against the windows like whispers. She hadn’t planned to see anyone. Especially not him. And definitely not tonight, the night she had planned to finally be touched the way she wanted. But James was gone. And Rowan was here. And nothing was going the way it was supposed to.