Chapter 7 - THE TRUCK LIGHTS CAME BACK TOO SOON
Claire went upstairs for the spare key.
Grace forced herself into a chair near the door and loaded the handgun with trembling fingers—not because she wanted to use it, but because being unarmed now felt like another form of stupidity.
Then headlights flashed through the trees.
Too soon.
Claire froze halfway down the loft stairs.
“Mom—”
“Hide the laptop.”
Claire shoved it back into the compartment and lowered the hatch just as the truck engine growled outside.
Adrian was back.
Earlier than expected.
The front door unlocked.
He stepped in carrying a grocery bag and a smile that vanished the instant he saw Grace upright in the chair.
“Interesting.”
Claire was already moving, slipping back into fury.
“You left me alone with her!”
Adrian’s eyes flicked over the room.
The rug wasn’t perfectly straight.
The chair had moved.
Grace’s posture had changed.
Something was wrong.
He set the grocery bag down slowly.
“What happened?”
Claire shoved him hard in the chest.
“She kept talking!”
Adrian barely flinched.
His gaze landed on Grace’s blood-streaked hand.
Then on the wall where the phone used to be.
Then lower.
On the faint scratch marks near the fireplace hatch.
Grace saw the exact moment he understood there had been movement in the room he didn’t control.
His whole body changed.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Stillness.
Dangerous stillness.
“Claire,” he said softly. “Come here.”
Claire didn’t move.
Grace rose halfway from the chair.
“Don’t.”
Adrian smiled at Grace without looking at her.
“That sounds like a mother again.”
Claire backed toward Grace instead.
Just one step.
Adrian noticed.
And then the mask dropped.
“You stupid girl.”
He lunged toward the fireplace.
Grace drew the gun and fired into the floor.
The explosion inside the cabin deafened all three of them.
Splinters jumped from the boards inches from Adrian’s boot.
He stopped.
Everyone stared.
Grace’s hands shook violently, but the gun stayed raised.
“Step away.”
Claire looked at her mother in shock.
Adrian slowly straightened.
His face had gone blank in the most frightening possible way.
“Give me the gun, Grace.”
“No.”
“You won’t shoot me.”
Grace felt the weight of blood loss, fear, and rage all pulling at her trigger finger.
“No,” she said. “But I’ll shoot your knee and let the mountain air do the rest.”
He believed her.
Not because she was fearless.
May you like
Because she was no longer begging.
That was enough.
