The fire had burned low by midnight, casting long amber shadows across the cabin walls. The storm had settled into a steady drizzle, but the forest outside remained unnervingly quiet.
Emma sat by the window, sharpening her knife in slow, practiced strokes. Darrick tried to rest on an old couch, but every time he closed his eyes, memories of gunshots echoed in his mind.
He finally sat up.
"You don't sleep?" he asked quietly.
Emma didn't look up. "Not when danger's this close."
"We've been on the move for days. You haven't rested properly since we started."
"I'll sleep when you're safe."
He hesitated.
"Emma… you can trust me, you know."
She stopped sharpening.
Trust.
The word hit her like a bruise.
"I don't trust anyone," she said. "Not anymore."
"What happened to you?"
She clenched her jaw, then kept sharpening. "Nothing I want to talk about."
"But you talk about your brothers."
"That's different."
"How?" he pressed.
She paused again… then slowly put the knife down.
"Because they're all I have," she whispered.
Darrick's expression softened. He stood, walked over, and sat on the floor across from her.
"What about your parents?" he asked gently.
Her eyes flickered with something raw—pain she never let anyone see.
"Dead," she said flatly. "Murdered when I was 17."
He inhaled sharply. "Emma… I'm sorry."
She shrugged like it didn't matter.
But her voice cracked, just barely.
"My older brother James tried to find the people behind it. That got him shot… now he can't walk. Sam's still in school. He deserves a real future. Someone had to make money."
"So you threw away yours," he murmured.
She met his eyes.
"I didn't throw anything away. I traded it."
"For them," he said.
"For them," she confirmed.
Silence fell again—but this time, not empty. Heavy. Emotional.
Darrick shifted closer—slowly, like approaching a frightened animal.
"You're incredible, Emma."
She laughed bitterly. "I'm a thief and a fighter."
"You're a survivor," he corrected.
She looked away. Compliments were harder to fight than bullets.
Darrick hesitated, then asked quietly:
"Emma… what's your full name?"
She stiffened. "Why do you want to know that?"
"Because I want to know the woman protecting my life. Not just the fighter. The person."
She swallowed, her heart thudding unpleasantly.
It had been years since anyone asked for her real name.
"Emmanuella Hart," she whispered.
Darrick repeated it softly, like tasting the sound.
"Emmanuella."
"No one calls me that."
"I like it," he said.
Her cheeks warmed—it was barely noticeable, but it was there.
He smiled gently.
"Emmanuella Hart. The woman who saved my life. Twice."
"Stop making it sound romantic," she muttered, flustered.
"What if it is?" he asked quietly.
Her breath hitched.
She stood abruptly. "I'm—checking the perimeter again."
"Emma—"
"Don't."
He froze.
She gripped the doorway, steadying herself.
"Don't say things you can't take back," she said, voice unsteady.
He rose slowly. "I'm not taking anything back."
Her heartbeat pounded painfully.
"I can't afford feelings."
"Then let me have them," he said, stepping closer.
Emma backed up. "No—no. Darrick, this isn't—we're not—"
He stopped just inches away, rain dripping from his hair, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm falling for you, Emma."
Her breath trembled.
"I told you not to—"
"Too late."
She turned away, hand covering her face.
"Damn it," she whispered. "You're making this harder."
"Tell me to stop," he said softly. "And I will."
She opened her mouth.
But no words came out.
Then—
A loud crack outside.
A snapped branch.
Emma instantly drew her gun.
"Someone's here," she said, voice sharp again, all emotion locked away.
Darrick's eyes hardened. "Backup?"
"No," Emma said, stepping toward the door.
"Someone else."
She motioned for him to stay low.
Another crunch outside.
Then a shadow moved past the window.
Emma's heartbeat slowed. Focus sharpened. Adrenaline flooded in.
Whoever was out there…
…wasn't friendly.
The moment between her and Darrick vanished, replaced by danger.
But deep inside them both…
Something had already changed.