I let her words settle in the space between us, the weight of them pressing down like the snow outside. My first instinct was to tell her it would be okay — but I knew better. Empty promises didn't mean anything to someone who'd lived through hell.
Instead, I said quietly, "I know what it's like."
Her brow furrowed. "To be hurt like that?"
I nodded, staring at my hands. "My dad… he was the kind of man who made everyone else think he was respectable. Hard-working. Funny. But behind closed doors…" My throat tightened, the old memories clawing their way back. "He had a temper. It didn't take much for him to snap. I spent my childhood learning how to read the way he breathed when he walked through the door, so I'd know if I needed to hide."
Amelia didn't speak, but her eyes softened.
I exhaled slowly, the air shaky. "He's been dead for years, but sometimes… it doesn't feel like it."
For a long moment, we just sat there, watching each other like we were seeing the deepest, most hidden parts of ourselves for the first time.
"You understand," she said softly — not a question, but a statement.
"I do," I replied, my voice low but steady. "And that's why I'm not going to let him get near you again. I don't care what it takes, Amelia. I'll get you away from him. And I'll stay until you're safe."
Something shifted in her expression — fear still lingered there, but underneath it was trust. The kind that wasn't given lightly.
Without thinking, I reached for her hand. She didn't pull away. Instead, she laced her fingers through mine, holding on like she had no intention of letting go.
And in that small, warm room, with the snow falling again outside, I knew this wasn't just about survival anymore.
*****
Morning came too quickly. I'd barely slept, waking at every creak of the building and every gust of wind rattling the window. Amelia looked the same—eyes shadowed, her movements careful, like she was afraid of what the day might bring.
We were halfway through packing our things when we heard a soft sound at the door. We both froze. It wasn't loud, but it was deliberate.
I crossed the room in two quick strides and pulled the door open — only to find the hallway empty.
No footsteps. No voices.
Just a single folded piece of paper lying on the floor.
I picked it up slowly, my chest tightening, and opened it. Four words, written in thick, heavy strokes:
You can't hide forever.
Amelia's face drained of colour when she saw it. She didn't need to ask who it was from. Neither did I.
Somewhere in this building — or maybe just outside — Mark was watching.
I didn't let her see my own fear — not now.
"Pack the rest of your things," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "We're leaving. Now."
Her brow furrowed. "But where? We can't just —"
"We can," I cut in. "And we have to. If he's here, this place isn't safe. We put as much distance between us and him as we can before he realises we're gone."
She hesitated for only a heartbeat before nodding, her hands moving quickly to shove the last of her clothes into her bag. I slung both packs over my shoulders and opened the door just enough to scan the hallway. Empty.
We slipped out, our footsteps soft on the carpet, my ears straining for the sound of anyone following. Down the back stairwell, through a narrow corridor, then out into the biting morning air.
The road was still half-buried in snow, but there was a small staff parking lot behind the lodge. Luck, for once, was on our side — an old 4x4 sat idling there, its driver, a lodge employee in a thick coat, tossing bags of rock salt into the shed at the back.
I stepped forward. "Excuse me — are you heading into town?"
"Yeah," the man replied, squinting against the wind.
"We need a ride. Now." I didn't care if I sounded desperate.
He looked between us, then replied "£50."
"Done" I said.
He gave a short nod. "Hop in."
I held the door for Amelia and slid in beside her, keeping my gaze fixed on the lodge as the car pulled away. My gut told me that somewhere behind those frosted windows, Mark knew we were gone.
And I intended to keep it that way for as long as possible.
The heater rattled as warm air blasted through the vents, thawing the ice from our fingers. The driver glanced at us in the rear-view mirror.
"So," he said, pulling onto the narrow road that headed back to the town, "what were you two doing all the way up at the lodge? Not many guests this time of year."
I forced a casual smile. "Just a short break. Needed to get away from things for a few days."
"Yeah?" he said, shifting gears as we hit a patch of ice. "And you're leaving already?"
"Our car wouldn't start," I added smoothly, leaning back against the seat like it was no big deal. "We both need to get back for work. Figured we'd catch a ride to town and sort it out later."
He nodded, apparently satisfied, and turned his eyes back to the road. Beside me, Amelia kept her gaze fixed out the side window, her hand resting lightly against my leg. Her skin was cold, but her grip was steady — like she knew we had to hold the story together until we were somewhere safe.
The driver slowed as the road curved sharply, his hands steady on the wheel. "Funny thing," he said, almost idly, "I saw a guy walking down the access road early this morning. Not a guest—no luggage, nothing. Just a heavy coat and boots. Didn't wave, didn't even look at me."
My jaw tightened. "What time was that?"
He thought for a moment. "Around seven, I guess. Bit before sunrise. He was heading away from the lodge, but… you don't see many folks on foot in this weather. Looked like he'd been out there a while."
I nodded like it was nothing, but I felt Amelia shift beside me. Her fingers curled into my sleeve, a silent question I couldn't answer.
"Probably just a hiker," the driver added, though his tone wasn't entirely convinced.
"Yeah," I said, forcing my voice to stay even. "Probably."
But I kept my eyes on the rear-view mirror for the rest of the drive, half-expecting to see a dark figure in the snow behind us.