Chapter 39
The Echo Beneath the Calm
It had been three weeks since Marissa and Mason made the cabin their refuge. Three weeks of slow mornings, firelight dinners, and long walks through the woods. It was the kind of peace that almost didn't feel real like a dream they had stumbled into by accident.
But peace, as Marissa was learning, could be deceiving.
There were signs small things at first. A flicker of worry in Mason's eyes when his phone rang and he didn't recognize the number. A hushed conversation he thought she hadn't overheard. The way he scanned the woods sometimes, like he was expecting someone to appear out of the trees.
Marissa tried to brush it off, to tell herself it was nothing. Mason had always been protective, sometimes too much so. Maybe it was just old habits resurfacing. But the pit in her stomach was growing heavier by the day.
And then it happened.
They were sitting by the fire one evening, Mason reading and Marissa sketching aimlessly in her notebook. The moment was quiet, the kind of ordinary intimacy that felt sacred. But then Mason's phone buzzed once, twice and he didn't move to check it.
She glanced at him, brows furrowed. "Aren't you going to get that?"
He didn't look up. "No. It's probably nothing."
But Marissa knew better. She recognized the tension in his shoulders, the way he was gripping the book a little too tightly.
She put down her notebook. "Mason. Talk to me."
He hesitated, then set the book aside with a sigh. "It's nothing for you to worry about."
Her expression hardened. "That's not fair. You don't get to decide what I should or shouldn't worry about not when we're in this together."
He finally looked at her, and there it was: the flicker of fear he had been hiding. "It's someone from my past. Someone I thought I'd never hear from again."
Her pulse quickened. "Who?"
He ran a hand through his hair. "His name's Victor. We used to work together... back before I left everything behind. He's not a good man, Marissa. He's dangerous. And if he's reaching out now, it means something's wrong."
Marissa felt the chill snake down her spine. "What kind of wrong?"
Mason looked at her, and she could see the battle behind his eyes. "He's involved in things I tried to walk away from. He always said you could never truly leave. Maybe he's trying to pull me back in."
The silence stretched between them. The fire crackled, but it didn't feel warm anymore.
"So what do we do?" she asked, her voice steady despite the unease coiling in her chest.
Mason reached for her hand. "We stay quiet. Stay low. We don't answer unknown calls. If he wants something, he'll make it known. But until then, we don't panic."
Marissa nodded slowly, but her mind was spinning. They had built something delicate here, something real. And now it was at risk of being shattered.
She had promised herself she would never run again. But what if staying meant danger? What if the calm they had found was only the surface of something deeper, darker?
The next few days passed in a strange limbo. They kept up the appearance of normalcy morning coffee, afternoon walks, quiet evenings but the air between them was heavy with things left unsaid.
Marissa found herself jumping at shadows. A car backfiring in the distance made her flinch. A man in town with a long coat and sunglasses sent her heart racing.
Mason tried to soothe her, but even he seemed more alert. He checked the locks twice before bed. Started carrying a small knife in his boot again.
On the fifth night, it happened.
Marissa had just come out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, when she heard the sound.
A knock.
Not on the front door but on the back.
She froze.
The knock came again. Slow. Deliberate.
She backed into the hallway, calling out, "Mason?"
He was in the kitchen, and he met her eyes with immediate concern. He moved silently toward the back door, pulling her behind him.
"Stay here," he whispered.
She watched as he approached the door, his body tense. He didn't open it, just peered through the small side window.
Then, his entire body went still.
Marissa couldn't see who it was. But Mason's reaction told her everything.
He opened the door an inch.
"What do you want?" he said coldly.
A deep voice responded, muffled by the door. "That's no way to greet an old friend, Mason."
Marissa's breath caught.
Victor.
Mason stepped outside, shutting the door behind him.
Marissa raced to the window, heart pounding. She pressed herself against the edge, careful not to be seen.
Victor was tall, broad-shouldered, with a scar down one cheek. He was wearing a black coat, even though the air was mild. His smile was the kind that didn't reach his eyes.
They spoke in low tones, but she caught snatches.
"…need a favor…"
"…not my life anymore…"
"…you owe me…"
"…not getting involved…"
Then Victor said something that made Mason's jaw clench.
"…She's lovely. Would be a shame if anything happened to her."
Mason lunged forward, shoving Victor back a step. The man only laughed, brushing off his coat.
"Think about it," Victor said. "You know where to find me."
He walked away into the trees, like a shadow dissolving into night.
Mason didn't come back inside right away. He stood there, staring into the dark.
When he finally returned, his expression was unreadable.
Marissa stood in the hallway, towel still clutched around her.
"What did he want?" she asked.
Mason looked at her for a long time before answering. "He wants me to do something. One last job. He says if I don't... he'll come after us."
Marissa's stomach dropped. "Then we leave. We get out of here, now."
He shook his head. "It won't help. Victor has connections. It doesn't matter where we go."
She walked to him, placing a hand on his chest. "Then what do we do?"
His eyes darkened. "I finish this."
"No," she said quickly. "You don't owe him anything, Mason. You left that life behind."
"I know," he said. "But he's right about one thing. If I don't deal with this, he won't stop."
Marissa's throat tightened. "You're not going alone."
"I have to," Mason said softly. "I won't risk you."
"You don't get to decide that," she whispered fiercely. "We're in this together. Remember?"
His lips trembled, just slightly. Then he pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly it almost hurt.
"I'm scared," he admitted into her hair. "Not of him. Of losing you."
"You won't lose me," she said, her voice fierce. "Not if we fight together."
And in that moment, they knew something had changed.
The danger was no longer distant. It was real. And it had found them.
But so had love. And that, too, was real, solid and fierce and worth fighting for.
Later that night, Mason packed a bag.
Just the essentials. A few tools. A burner phone. A gun he hadn't touched in years.
Marissa sat on the bed, watching him. She didn't try to stop him this time. But she didn't let him leave alone, either.
"We face this together," she said.
Mason stared at her, conflict warring in his eyes.
"You're the bravest person I know," he said. "But this world... it's not meant for you."
Marissa stood, walked to him, and placed her hands on either side of his face.
"Maybe not," she said. "But you are. And I'm not letting you walk into it without me."
He closed his eyes.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
And so, just before dawn, they left the cabin behind—hand in hand, two souls bracing for whatever came next.
Not as fugitives. Not as victims.
But as a pair of hearts refusing to let fear win.