The cabin stood tucked beneath tall pines, smoke curling from its chimney like a quiet signal. It wasn’t grand. But it looked… solid.
He stepped down and opened the door, standing aside.
“It’s warm inside,” he said. “You don’t have to go in.”
She hesitated.
Warmth meant walls. Walls meant being trapped.
But the door stood wide open.
No lock in sight.
She stepped in.
A fire crackled steady in the hearth. Two plates waited on the table. A kettle steamed gently.
Cole poured hot water into a tin cup. “There’s stew if you’re hungry. Blanket’s on the chair.”
She clutched his coat around her shoulders. “What now?” she whispered.
“Now you breathe.”
She studied him. Hard.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“Because this is a place with no locks.”
It sounded simple. Maybe foolish. But he said it like a fact carved in stone.
They ate in near quiet. The stew burned her tongue, but she didn’t slow down. It tasted real — not stale, not rationed.
When night settled, he placed a blanket near the hearth.
“You take the bed,” he said. “I’ll stay here.”
She stiffened. “I don’t want to be touched.”
He nodded once. “I won’t touch what isn’t offered.”
Something inside her — something coiled tight for years — loosened.
That night, for the first time since her mother died, Allora slept without listening for boots on the floor.
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