The third morning at the cabin, Sarah woke up colder.
The fire in the small stone fireplace had burned out sometime during the night. Pale gray light filtered through the narrow window. The lake outside was quiet, mist hovering just above the surface.
For a moment, she lay still and listened.
No footsteps.
No movement.
No voice.
Just water brushing against wood.
She slid off the bed slowly and tested the bedroom door.
Locked.
Of course.
She walked to the window again.
The bent nail had shifted slightly more last night.
But not enough.
She pressed harder.
It creaked faintly.
She froze.
Silence.
Then—
The door unlocked.
She didn't even have time to step away before it swung open.
Jay stood there.
Watching her hand still resting on the window frame.
"You're curious," he said calmly.
Her throat tightened.
"I just wanted air."
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
"You can open the window."
Her heart skipped.
He walked over and lifted it halfway.
Cool air rushed in.
She stared at him.
"Go ahead," he said.
She hesitated.
"Scream."
Her pulse spiked.
"What?"
"Scream," he repeated evenly. "As loud as you want."
Her chest tightened.
He stepped back, arms folded.
"Go on."
She shook her head.
He smiled slightly. "You think someone will hear you?"
The lake was endless.
The trees are thick.
No neighboring cabins visible.
He leaned closer.
"There's no one for miles."
Her breath came shallow.
"Try," he whispered.
She inhaled sharply and screamed.
The sound tore from her throat, raw and desperate.
It echoed briefly off the trees.
Then disappeared.
Nothing answered.
No dogs barking.
No doors are opening.
No engines starting.
Just the water.
Jay tilted his head slightly.
"See?"
Her hands trembled.
He closed the window again.
"You're safe here," he said softly. "With me."
Safe.
The word felt like poison.
Branson Police Department
Brian sat alone in his office, staring at the personnel transfer file again.
Jack Davis.
Transferred from the Carbondale PD three years ago.
Requested quietly.
Approved quickly.
No disciplinary record.
No flags.
Clean.
Too clean.
Brian picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts.
There was one name he hadn't spoken to in a while.
Detective Mark Ellison.
Carbondale PD.
He dialed.
"Ellison."
"Mark, it's Brian Dawson. Branson."
"Dawson? Haven't heard from you in a while."
"Yeah. Listen… I had a question about someone who used to work there."
A pause.
"Who?"
"Jack Davis."
Silence stretched slightly longer than expected.
"What about him?"
"Just background. Working a case, and his name came up."
Not a lie.
Not the full truth.
"He kept to himself," Mark said finally. "Didn't socialize much. Requested transfer sudden-like."
"Any issues?"
"Nothing official."
Official.
Brian caught the wording.
"What does that mean?"
Another pause.
"There were rumors. That's all."
"Rumors about what?"
"Obsession case. The girl claimed someone was following her. Nothing stuck. No proof. She wouldn't press charges."
Brian's grip tightened on the phone.
"Name?"
"Don't remember. It fizzled out."
Of course it did.
"Appreciate it," Brian said.
When he hung up, he leaned back slowly.
Rumors.
Following.
Girl.
No proof.
Smoke.
Still no fire.
Jack appeared in his doorway an hour later.
"Making friends with Carbondale again?"
Brian didn't flinch.
"Cross-referencing some digital leads," he replied evenly.
Jack stepped inside casually.
"On Johnson?"
"Yeah."
Jack nodded thoughtfully. "Still think it's the ex?"
"It's the strongest angle."
Jack's eyes sharpened almost imperceptibly.
"You ever consider," Jack said lightly, "that sometimes people disappear because they want to?"
Brian held his gaze.
"Not this one."
Jack studied him carefully.
Then smiled faintly.
"You're taking this one personally."
Brian's jaw flexed slightly.
"She's twenty-two."
"That's not what I meant."
The room felt smaller suddenly.
"Be careful," Jack added. "These kinds of cases can blur lines."
A warning?
Or a test?
Brian kept his expression neutral.
"I can handle it."
Jack nodded once and left.
But the look in his eyes lingered.
Carbondale – Sarah's Dorm Room
Molly sat cross-legged on the floor, photos spread around her like pieces of a broken puzzle.
She scanned each one carefully.
Jay never fully faces the camera.
Always slightly turned.
Always shadowed.
Deliberate.
Her phone buzzed.
Brian.
"Did you find anything else?" he asked.
"I'm scanning everything," she said. "I'm sending all of it to your private email."
There was a small pause.
"Private?"
"Yes. I don't know who sees things at the department."
The words hung heavy.
Brian's voice softened.
"That's smart."
She swallowed.
"I trust you."
The statement felt bigger than she intended.
There was silence on the line.
"You can," he said quietly.
She sent the files immediately.
Every photo.
Every screenshot.
Every saved message.
Everything.
If Jay had made a mistake, it was in those images somewhere.
She just had to find it.
Cabin – Night
Sarah refused to cry.
Refused to beg.
Jay entered the room again after dark.
He didn't knock anymore.
"You've been quiet," he observed.
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"How this ends."
He studied her.
"It ends with you understanding."
She let out a small, humorless laugh.
"You think this is love."
"It is love."
"It's control."
His expression hardened instantly.
"You needed protection."
"From what?"
"From yourself."
She stared at him.
"You're delusional."
The slap came fast.
Not hard enough to knock her down.
But hard enough to sting.
Silence filled the room.
He looked almost surprised at himself.
Then angry.
"You push me," he said quietly.
She tasted blood in her mouth.
"You said I could scream."
He stepped closer.
"You can scream all you want."
His voice dropped low, cold.
"No one is coming."
Her heart pounded violently.
He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"You belong here until you remember that."
When he left, locking the door behind him—
She allowed herself exactly five seconds to shake.
Then she stood up.
Walked to the window.
Pressed on the bent nail again.
It moved further this time.
Not much.
But enough.
She wasn't waiting to be rescued.
She was going to survive him.
Back in Branson, Brian opened Molly's email.
He enlarged one photo.
Zoomed in on the background.
There.
Faint.
Blurred.
Almost nothing.
But something reflective on Jay's wrist.
A metal band.
Police-issued watch.
Standard department model.
His stomach tightened.
Still not proof.
But the smoke was getting thicker.
And he was running out of air.