Five minutes later, Lucas returned and opened her door.
"Come on," he said. "It's safe."
Inside, the cabin was small but warm. A fireplace dominated one wall, shelves of books lined another. The kitchen was clean but clearly used — pots hanging from hooks, herbs drying near the window.
Lucas flipped on a few lights and started a fire.
Aurora stood frozen in the middle of the room, unsure where to go, what to do.
Lucas came over, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder.
"You're safe," he said again.
Aurora believed him a little more this time.
After a while, she went to take a shower, scrubbing her skin raw, desperate to wash off the fear clinging to her.
When she emerged, wearing one of Lucas's oversized flannel shirts and leggings, she found him sitting cross-legged on the rug by the fire, his expression distant.
He looked up at her and smiled ….small, tired, but real.
"Come here," he said.
Aurora hesitated only a moment before crossing the room and sitting beside him.
They didn't speak for a long time.
The fire crackled.
The woods outside whispered and sighed.
Finally, Lucas shifted, facing her fully.
"I'm not going to let him take anything else from you," he said. His voice was rough with emotion. "Not your peace. Not your safety. Not your future."
Aurora felt her throat close at that instant.
She reached out, taking his hand in both of hers.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Lucas's thumb brushed over the back of her hand in a slow, comforting stroke.
"You don't have to thank me," he murmured. "Just... stay alive. Stay brave."
Aurora leaned forward before she could second-guess herself, resting her forehead against his.
Lucas froze — just for a second — and then exhaled shakily, tilting his head to rest fully against her.
There was no kiss. No desperate clutching.
Just two people, broken but not beaten, holding onto each other in the dark.
And somehow, somehow, it was enough.
For now.
After the next two days of staying there , the cabin's walls had started to feel like a prison.
Aurora sat by the window, chin propped on her knees, watching as golden sunlight filtered through the pine trees. The crisp mountain air that had once comforted her now felt suffocating.
She missed home.
Missed the squeak of her dorm room's old wooden floors.
Missed the smell of fresh laundry and the faint buzz of the campus and city.
Lucas's footsteps creaked behind her.
"You're quiet today," he said, his voice warm but cautious.
Aurora turned her head slightly, offering him a tired smile. "Just thinking."
He crossed the room, his hand brushing against her shoulder. "Want to talk about it?"
She shrugged. "I was just wondering... it's been two days now. No calls. No notes. No sightings." She paused, her voice lowering. "Maybe... maybe he's moved on."
Lucas's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He had been the one to insist she stay here after Ethan's sudden reappearance and the threats that had followed.
He had been the one to tell her she wasn't overreacting.
He had been the one to keep watch while she slept.
Now, he hesitated.
"You think it's safe?" he asked carefully.
Aurora bit her lip. "I don't know. I just... I can't stay here forever, Lucas. I feel like I'm hiding from my own life."
He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "It's not hiding, Rory. It's surviving."
The nickname slipped out of him so naturally that it almost startled her.
It had been years since anyone but Ethan had called her that.
Lucas's eyes softened.
"I get it," he said. "You miss your space. Your routines. Your independence."
Aurora nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. "I miss feeling normal."
Lucas bent down a little so they were eye-level.
"Alright," he said after a moment. "Let's do this smart. You move back. I'll install extra locks. Security cameras. Secretly of course. If anything feels wrong, you call me, no hesitation."
Aurora's throat tightened with gratitude.
"Are you sure?" she whispered.
"I'm not thrilled about it," he admitted, "but I trust you. And I'll be nearby."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Aurora leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his.
"Thank you," she murmured.
Lucas smiled against her skin. "Always."
Aurora went home two days later after the extra security measures had been set up.
The cab pulled up in front of her dorm building. Aurora stared up at it, her stomach twisting.
The place looked the same …brick walls, sagging awnings, faded numbers by the entrance.
But she didn't feel the same.
Lucas unloaded her bags from the trunk, scanning the street like a human security system.
She smiled at his protectiveness, even as nerves gnawed at her.
"You're sure about this?" he asked one more time.
Aurora nodded. "I need to reclaim my life, Lucas. I can't let him scare me forever."
He studied her for a long moment, then handed her the pepper spray he insisted she carry.
"First sign of trouble," he said, "I'm dragging you back to the cabin by your ankles."
Aurora laughed , a real laugh, not the brittle kind she had grown used to.
It felt good.
"Deal," she said.
Lucas squeezed her hand before helping her carry her things inside.
The dorm room smelled stale, like dust and disuse.
Aurora opened windows, letting fresh air pour in.
She wandered through the room, touching familiar objects ….her chipped coffee mug, her worn-out throw blanket, the framed photo of her and her mother at graduation.
It felt both foreign and achingly familiar.
Lucas helped her set up the new locks and cameras, showing her how the app on her phone worked.
"Motion detectors too," he said. "You'll get a notification if anyone even breathes too hard near your door."
Aurora smiled. "You're kind of amazing, you know that?"
Lucas grinned. "I try."
They sat on the couch for a while, drinking takeout coffee and talking about everything but Ethan.
When the sun began to set, Lucas stood, stretching.
"I should go," he said reluctantly. "Give you some space."
Aurora walked him to the door, heart heavier than she expected.
"Text me when you get home?" she asked.
"Already planning on it," he said, ruffling her hair.
She watched him walk down the hall, a strange emptiness blooming inside her.
For the first time in what seemed like a long while, she was truly alone.
Hours later, after Lucas finally left ,only after extracting a promise from her to call if she needed anything, Aurora wandered aimlessly around the room.
She touched objects like a ghost ….a photograph of her mother, a chipped coffee mug, the edge of the old dining table where she had once spent hours studying. Each item was a stitch holding her life together, but the threads felt dangerously frayed.
Aurora's mind went to a party she had attended a while back. The party had been loud, too loud.
Aurora had clutched her red plastic cup, feeling out of place among the crowd of laughing strangers.
She hated parties.
Hated the chaos.
Ethan had been different back then.
Or at least, she thought he had been.
He found her by the fireplace, a mischievous grin on his face.
"There you are," he said, draping an arm around her shoulders. "Was starting to think you ditched me."
Aurora smiled shyly. "Just... not really my scene."
Ethan kissed her temple. "Come on. I'll make it fun."
He dragged her into the center of the room, spinning her around.
She laughed despite herself, feeling a little dizzy, a little drunk on the way he looked at her like she was the only one there.
Later, when the party had thinned out, he had pulled her onto the balcony, the cool night air biting against their skin.
"You're too good for this place," he whispered, brushing her hair from her face.
She believed him.
Believed every sweet, reckless promise that spilled from his mouth.
Even when he started keeping secrets.
Even when he grew jealous and possessive.
She had clung to those memories …these memories ,like life rafts.
Long after they had started sinking her.
By the time evening crept in, the exhaustion overwhelmed her.
She curled up on the couch, wrapping herself in an old quilt, and let her eyes drift shut.
Then the dream hit her like a hammer.
She was back in the cramped apartment she had shared with her mother years ago. The scent of burnt toast and cheap air freshener filled her nose.
Her mother was laughing in the kitchen, hair messy, wearing an oversized sweatshirt that swallowed her tiny frame. Aurora, maybe twelve years old, sat at the table swinging her legs, working on homework.
It should have been a happy memory.
But then ….the door slammed open.
Ethan stood there, younger but no less terrifying, his face twisted in rage.
"What the hell is this?" he shouted, throwing a crumpled piece of paper across the room.
Aurora's mother flinched, her laughter dying instantly.