[Emma’s POV]
The deep, cedar-scented silence of the farmhouse, which had felt like a sanctuary just hours before, now seemed terrifyingly vulnerable. Wrapped in the lingering warmth of Jaxon’s promise and the soft, worn cotton of his old t-shirt—the one that smelled so purely of him—I had finally fallen into a sleep so profound it felt like sinking into a safe, dark ocean. The nightmares that usually haunted me had receded, replaced by the gentle, imagined sound of swans on the lake.
I did not hear the careful, deliberate pressure on the window frame, the almost imperceptible groan of old wood giving way. I did not hear the nearly silent footfall on the braided rug, a shadow moving with an unnerving grace that bypassed the creaky floorboards.
The first conscious sensation was a cold, ca
