Chapter Eighty-Three
The morning did not bring any warmth back into the cabin. When the gray sunlight finally pushed through the tall pine trees outside, it revealed a cold, quiet world that felt completely empty.
I stayed under the heavy quilt for a long time, staring up at the dark wooden beams of the ceiling. Every part of my body felt heavy, bruised, and tired. My eyes burned from crying through the long hours of the night, and my throat was dry and sore.
For weeks, I had thought the scariest thing in the world was the sound of police sirens, or the threat of rival club members, or the cold well-house where my father had left me. But lying alone in that broad bed, listening to the total silence coming from the hallway, I realized there was a different kind of fear. It was the quiet,
