James

The second I open the door, the cold hits me like a warning. Sharp. Bitter. Merciless. But even that isn’t enough to break the frozen grip wrapped around my chest.

For a second, I just stand there unable to move beyond the threshold. My heart hammers so hard it hurts. My lungs feel tight, like something heavy is pressing down on my ribs. I stare out at the trees. The mountains. The wide stretch of white-dusted land I built this house on because it was supposed to be safe. Because it was far above the strife and filth of this world. Remote. Untouchable. At least that’s what I believed. What I needed to believe.

But now?

Now it feels exposed.

Like everything I thought I’d fortified is suddenly made of glass.

The wind cuts across the porch, rustling the branches and scattering the snow from the treetops. Every sound feels amplified. Too sharp. Yet too quiet. The kind of blaring silence you hear just before something breaks.

I scan the woods, my gaze darting to the shadows. Searching. Taking them in. Wondering if he’s out there. Watching.

My gut twists painfully at the thought. I know the sensors are working. Every camera. Every perimeter alert. But none of that matters now, because the damage isn’t in the physical breach—it’s in the knowing that he knows where she is. Even after all the precautions we took. Even though we haven’t left this place since she moved in, except for that one afternoon, to visit Emilia and the baby. 

And God, we were careful. 

So fucking careful, but in the end, none of it mattered. Because the devastating truth is… Victor found her because of me.

I’m the reason. 

I goaded him that night, when he showed up on her doorstep, like some smug, untouchable bastard. I provoked him. Pressed all his buttons, just to prove I could. I thought I was smarter. Better than him in every way. And yeah, I enjoyed it—getting under his skin. That brief second where it felt like I had the upper hand. Like I’d beat him in his own game. 

But all that did was paint a giant target on her back. A target he followed and led him straight to my home—our safe place—because I made it obvious she was with me. That I was the obstacle he’d have to go through to get to her. 

Fuck.

Sick with regret, I force down the bile rising in my throat and finally look. Just by the door is a box. Inside a glass vase with two dozen white roses, arranged in delicate tissue paper, tied with a satin bow. Tucked against the stems… a cream-colored envelope. 

My throat closes. My fists curl. And my heart sinks as the full weight of it settles in. 

Not only has he found her, but now, the one place I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to make safe… isn’t safe anymore.

“James.” Zeb’s voice cuts through the noise in my head. “Go ahead and get the card. Just the envelope. Don’t touch anything else.”

I try to swallow, but my throat’s too dry to get it down. 

The wind shifts behind me, rustling the trees. But beneath it, I swear I hear something. 

Footsteps. 

In the snow. 

My pulse spikes. I whip my head toward the tree line, scanning every shadow, every place someone could be hiding. There’s nothing there. Just branches. Silence. I know it’s probably all in my head, but still… I can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched.

Desperate to end this and get back to her, I crouch. My fingers tremble as I reach toward the bouquet. It’s an exact replica of the ones he sent to Aunt Rosie’s house and the diner. Same local flower shop. Same pristine arrangement. Clean. Bright white. Like his intent is pure and not some fucking game.

I spot the envelope tucked in the center—cream-colored, thick, made of premium stock. I don’t want to touch it. Don’t want to know what it says. But for her—to protect her—I have to do this. So I pinch the corner and lift it free. Slow and deliberate, like one wrong move might set it off.

Then I tear the flap. The crack of the paper splitting the silence makes me flinch. Inside, there’s a folded card. No logo. No design. Just a block of text printed in black ink:

“I HAD a dove and the sweet dove died; And I have thought it died of grieving. O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied, with a silken thread of my own hand's weaving.”

I read it again.

And again.

My heart plummets to my stomach as the lines from the John Keats poem hit harder with each pass. Until now, the quotes in the other deliveries were cryptic. Twisted, yes. But there was a romantic veneer, some sick imitation of longing.

But this? 

This is different. 

This speaks of death. Of captivity. There’s no ambiguity. No misreading it. 

This is a threat. 

And it turns my chest to concrete.

As I force myself to breathe, I flip the card over, dreading what I’ll find but needing to see it nonetheless.

“To my Dove. Until we meet again.”

That’s when the real fear sets in.

My hand goes numb, and the card slips from my fingers, landing face down on top of the roses. Cream on white. Colors meant to evoke peace. Serenity. Beauty and elegance. But here, in this context, they’re a mockery. A contrast so stark it makes my skin crawl. 

“Talk to me, man.” Zeb’s voice cuts in again—sharper now. Like he can feel me unraveling and knows he needs to pull me back. “Don’t go quiet on me. Tell me what it says?”

But I can’t speak. My mouth won’t cooperate. The words are there, clawing at the edges, but I can’t force them out. All I can do is stare. My gaze drifts from the flowers, to the house, to the treeline beyond the drive.

My home.

My sanctuary.

The only place I’ve ever managed to make feel safe.

And now all I see are angles. Vantage points. Places someone could hide. Could watch. Could aim.

My eyes snap to the floor-to-ceiling windows lining every room of this house. Every shadow feels suspicious. My own reflection in the glass entrance door startles me. The man staring back is a stranger. Too tense. Too wrecked and anxious to pass for the version of me that opened this door just minutes ago.

Because he found us.

And I’m the idiot who led him straight here. 

“I can’t…” It’s all I manage to choke out. All my other words are trapped behind the terror consuming me.

Thankfully, Zeb doesn’t push. Instead, his voice softens, steady and calm, becoming the tether I didn’t know I needed.

“Leave it there. All of it. Walk away and go back inside. I’ll be there soon to take care of it.”

“I—” My voice breaks. “Zeb… he knows she’s here.”

“I know.” His tone is matter-of-fact. No judgment. No pity. No sugar coating. Just a quiet certainty I’m grateful for. “And I’ve got your back. We all do. Just go back inside, man. Lock the door. Sit tight. We’ve got this.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, fist curling tight at my side as I take one last look at the outside of my home. This place—this land tucked into the mountains, away from the rest of the world. I built it brick by fucking brick to be untouchable. Unreachable. It was supposed to be our shield. A fortress designed to finally give Tyler and me the security and stability we never had.

And now?

It’s compromised. Contaminated.

And I don’t know how the hell to fix it. I don’t even know if I can. And for a guy like me—a guy with my kind of history—that feels like the end of the world. It’s like I’ve been shoved right back into the body of that helpless 12-year-old kid, drowning in fear and uncertainty while the world ripped away everything I loved. Everything I needed, including my little brother. 

It takes everything in me to stifle the sob fighting to break free. 

I don’t move.

I can’t. 

The air bites at my skin, but it barely registers. My hands are clenched so tight my knuckles ache. And there’s a feral roar buried deep in my chest that I can’t let out, because if I do, I might tear this entire fucking house to the ground.

The phone’s still pressed to my ear. Zeb’s breathing is steady on the other end, giving me space. Letting me sit with this mess. Letting me come apart just enough to maybe find my footing again. But how the hell am I supposed to do that… when the ground beneath me feels like quicksand?

“Victor,” I whisper. My voice sounds foreign. Frayed. “He’s fucking coming for her.”

“Probably,” he says softly. “But we’ve been planning for this, remember? We always knew it might come to this. That’s why we have contingencies.”

I press my palm against the side of the house, grounding myself in the feel of rough wood beneath my fingers—solid, unyielding. The opposite of everything I feel right now.

“This place was supposed to be safe,” I rasp. “It was the one goddamn thing I could control.”

“I know. But listen to me, brother. Take a breath. Let all that shit go and leave it out there. Right now, all you need to do is go back inside, lock the door, and breathe. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Breathe,” I echo, the word sounding foreign on my tongue.

“That’s right,” he says gently. “You remember how. You’ve done it before. You’ve come back from worse than this. You know you have. So start there. Breathe. Then focus on Annelly. She and Tyler are going to need you.”

My eyes shut tight. The second he mentions them, something in me splits wide open. Fear rushes in like a tidal wave, crushing and suffocating.

“What if I can’t fix this?” My voice is barely a whisper. “Without this… I don’t know how to protect them. What if I fail her? What if I fail them both?”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.” I shoot back bitterly. Because how the hell could he when I’m not so sure myself?

“I do.” His voice sharpens, anchored with that unshakable conviction he always carries. “Because I know you. I know the kind of man you are. You don’t sit back. You don’t fold. You face the threat head-on, knuckles up, and you fight like hell for the people you love. It’s who you are, James. It’s what you do.”

My throat tightens, and I swallow hard. 

“Plus, you’re not alone. You’ve got us—OTS, Ben, your friends. You’ve got a goddamn army behind you, and we’re not letting this bastard win. Period. Not here. Not now. Not ever. So for God’s sake—please tell me you fucking hear me?”

My jaw clenches, my chest burns, and I nod, even though he can’t see me. When I finally manage to speak, my voice is shaky but more sure. “Yeah. You’re right. I hear you.”

“Good. Then get the fuck inside. Lock the door. I’ll be there shortly.” 

And just like that, the line goes dead. 

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