We'd barely made it ten steps from the cabin when Brandon stopped short.
"What is it?" I asked, following his gaze.
There were tracks in the snow — fresh ones. Not ours, not Kelly's. Too big to be from any animal around here, and too deep to have been there long. Boots. Heavy ones. Headed straight toward the cabin… and then away again, vanishing into the trees.
Brandon stepped forward, crouching beside them. "Someone's been here."
The words sat heavy in the cold morning air.
I looked over my shoulder at the cabin, suddenly too aware of how alone we were. The tracks hadn't been there yesterday, and Kelly hadn't mentioned seeing anyone on the road in.
"Maybe a hiker got lost?" I offered, though even I didn't believe it. There was no reason for anyone to be this far out, especially in weather like this.
Brandon stood, brushing snow from his gloves. "We should head back."
We walked in silence, not because we didn't have anything to say, but because suddenly, the quiet felt different — like it was watching.
Back inside, the warmth felt less comforting than before. Brandon checked the door, then the windows, then lit the fire again, though it wasn't really cold.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my ankle throbbing faintly, but my thoughts louder than the pain.
"Do you lock the door when you go out to chop wood?" I asked him quietly.
He looked over at me. "I will now."
Absolutely — here's the continuation of **Chapter Seven**, with Brandon trying to figure out who the visitor might be, and Amelia evasive but clearly shaken. This deepens the mystery while also adding to their emotional tension.
---
Brandon crouched near the fire, feeding it a fresh log, though his eyes kept drifting back to the door.
"Amelia," he said, his voice calm but purposeful, "is there anyone who might've come looking for you?"
I stiffened, sinking deeper into the bed, leaning back ont the pillows. "What do you mean?"
He turned to face me, arms resting on his knees. "I mean… anyone who knew you were here. Someone who might've followed you."
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. My throat felt tight. "No," I said after a beat. "No one knows I'm here."
Brandon didn't press right away, but I could see the doubt flicker behind his eyes. He wasn't accusing me — but he was watching me closely, the way someone watches a candle to see if it's going to blow out or burn the place down.
"Because those tracks," he said slowly, "they weren't random. Whoever it was walked straight up to the cabin. Stopped at the door. Then left."
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the fire crackling a few feet away. "Maybe it was a hunter," I said, too quickly. "Or someone checking if the cabin was occupied."
"There's a sign at the trailhead that says private property," Brandon said. "No one just stumbles out here. And definitely not alone, in the snow, after a storm."
I looked away, my eyes falling to the window. The woods beyond seemed different now. The trees no longer felt like protectors.
Brandon stood, brushing off his hands, his voice gentler now. "Amelia… if there's something you're not telling me, it's okay. But I need to know if you're in danger."
"I'm not," I said, almost too fast. "I'm not," I repeated, softer. "I just… I don't know who it could be."
But I was scared. That much I couldn't hide. I could feel it creeping in, tightening in my chest, making the cabin feel smaller by the second. Because deep down, I knew. I didn't want to believe it, but I knew.
Someone had been here.
And maybe… they hadn't meant to leave just yet.
*****
Brandon didn't say anything for a long moment. He just stood there, watching me like he was trying to piece together a puzzle that was missing half its corners.
"I'm not trying to push," he said eventually. "But if there's something I should know — if someone's looking for you — I want to be ready."
I looked down at my hands, twisting them in my lap. My voice was barely above a whisper. "It's not that simple."
"Okay," he said gently, sitting down across from me. "Then start with simple."
I hesitated. The words gathered like a storm behind my ribs, pressing against the cage I'd built to keep them in. But I couldn't give him everything. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
"There was someone," I admitted. "Back home. He… he didn't take 'no' very well."
Brandon's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt.
"I didn't tell anyone where I was going. I left quietly. No dramatic exit, no note. Just — gone." I tried to smile, but it came out crooked. "I thought that would be enough."
Brandon's eyes searched mine, and in them I saw what I hadn't dared hope for: not pity, but understanding. Still, his voice was steady and practical.
"Could he have found out you were here?"
"I don't know," I said truthfully. "I used a different name for the rental, paid in cash, changed my number. I've been careful."
"But you didn't expect him to follow."
"No." My voice caught. "But he always liked to prove me wrong."
Brandon sat back, his expression unreadable. He looked toward the window again, the trees beyond it now seeming far less peaceful. Then he stood and crossed the room, checking the lock on the door again, more out of instinct than need.
"Whoever was out there," he said, "they walked up to the cabin. That means they knew someone was here."
He turned back to me. "If he's come this far, Amelia… we need to be ready."
Something inside me twisted painfully. I had come up here to disappear, to feel safe in the silence, in the snow. But maybe silence wasn't safety. Maybe it was just a hiding place someone hadn't knocked on — yet.
Brandon moved around the cabin, checking the windows, his footsteps quiet but deliberate. I barely noticed. My eyes were fixed on the fire, but I wasn't really seeing it. I was somewhere else — somewhen else.
There were things I didn't tell anyone. Things I couldn't. Not yet.
People always talk about how abuse creeps in like fog, slow and unnoticed. But mine didn't. Mine came like thunder — loud, sudden, impossible to ignore. The first time he raised his voice, it felt like a slap. The first time he actually hit me, I laughed. I laughed because I couldn't believe it had really happened. As if disbelief could erase it.
But it didn't. It only got worse.
He never left bruises where anyone would see. That was his version of control — make it invisible. Make me invisible. He'd isolated me, worn down my confidence like water smoothing stone. I wasn't allowed friends. Wasn't allowed privacy. Eventually, I wasn't even allowed my own opinions.
And the scariest part? I stayed. For too long. Because I thought maybe I was the problem. Because sometimes, he could be sweet. Because I didn't know who I was without him anymore.
It took everything I had to leave. I packed a single bag, walked out the door in the middle of the night, and never looked back. Not once. Not until now.
The idea that he might've found me—that he could be out there, watching, waiting — it chilled me deeper than the snow ever could.
But I wasn't the girl I used to be. I had rebuilt myself from broken pieces, stronger at the seams. I'd fought for this quiet. For this version of my life. And if he had come all this way to drag me back into that darkness, he was going to learn something new about me.
This time, I would fight back.