Rowan Hale POV
Rowan woke up reaching for a sound that was not there.
His hand closed around air.
His heart was racing, his breath sharp, like he had been running. For a moment, he did not know where he was. Then the quiet settled in. Thick. Heavy.
He sat up fast and listened.
Nothing.
No voices. No cars. No sirens. Just the low hum of the woods outside his cabin.
Rowan rubbed his face and let out a slow breath. Another bad dream. They always came when winter got close to Christmas.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood. The floor was cold. He welcomed it. Cold helped him feel real.
He moved to the small window and looked outside. Snow dusted the ground. Pine trees stood tall and still, like guards that never slept.
Good. No one around.
That was how he liked it.
Rowan poured himself coffee and leaned against the counter, staring at nothing. His phone lay on the table, screen dark. He hated that thing. Still, every morning, he checked it.
Like something might change.
Three years ago, his phone had ruined his life.
He closed his eyes, and the memory came anyway.
Headlines. Messages. Friends who stopped answering. Strangers who decided they knew the truth.
One mistake. One lie told loudly enough.
It had taken everything.
Rowan opened his eyes and took a long drink of coffee.
"You survived," he muttered. "That has to count for something."
He grabbed his jacket and stepped outside. The cold bit his skin, sharp and clean. Snow crunched under his boots as he walked a short distance, just enough to clear his head.
Christmas lights hung along the edge of his porch. He had put them up last year without knowing why. Maybe habit. Maybe hope.
He went back inside and picked up his phone.
Bad idea.
Still, his thumb moved on its own.
He scrolled.
News. Ads. Noise.
Then something made him stop.
A headline caught his eye.
Local Charity Breaks Donation Records as Christmas Nears.
Rowan frowned.
He tapped the article before he could talk himself out of it.
A photo loaded.
A woman stood smiling, surrounded by boxes and people. Her eyes were kind. Tired, but kind.
Elara Quinn.
He read the name twice.
Something in his chest tightened.
He read the article slowly. About her work. About how early she arrived. How late she stayed. How she cared more about families than praise.
Rowan swallowed.
He had seen this before.
Good people always showed up in stories like this. Right before everything went wrong.
He scrolled down.
Another photo appeared. Closer this time.
Her smile looked real.
"Don't," Rowan whispered. "Don't let them see you."
The memory rushed back again, stronger now.
A meeting room. Smiles that did not last. A voice saying, "We just need access." A promise that turned into a trap.
Rowan dropped onto a chair, phone shaking in his hand.
"They always start like this," he said softly. "They always do."
He scrolled further.
Comments filled the screen.
She's an angel.
We need more people like her.
Protect her at all costs.
Rowan laughed. It came out rough.
"Protection doesn't exist," he said. "Not when people want something from you."
His phone buzzed.
He froze.
Unknown number.
Rowan stared at it for a long moment, then let it go silent.
He opened the article again. Read it twice more. He memorized her face without meaning to.
A sense of danger crawled up his spine.
He checked the date.
Today.
Something was already moving.
Rowan stood and paced the small room. He had promised himself he would stay away. No more involvement. No more warnings people ignored.
Still, his chest hurt.
He knew how this story ended.
Unless someone changed it.
He sat back down and typed her name into the search bar. More articles came up. Interviews. Short clips.
In every one, Elara looked uncomfortable with attention.
That made it worse.
"She doesn't know," Rowan whispered. "She really doesn't know."
His phone buzzed again.
Same number.
This time, he answered.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then a click.
The call ended.
Rowan stared at the screen.
His pulse quickened.
That was not random.
He looked back at the article. At Elara's face.
Three years ago, someone had watched him like that. Studied him. Measured his weak points.
Trust. Isolation. A need to do good.
He shut his eyes.
"I won't do this again," he told himself. "I won't step back into it."
The phone buzzed a third time.
A text appeared.
You should stay out of this.
Rowan's blood ran cold.
"How do you know I'm in it?" he asked the empty room.
His fingers hovered over the screen. He did not reply.
Instead, he opened the article one last time.
He stared at Elara's photo until his eyes burned.
He leaned closer, his voice barely a breath.
"Don't trust anyone," he whispered. "Please don't make my mistakes."
Outside, the wind moved through the trees, soft and warning.
Rowan did not know her.
But he knew the danger coming for her.
And for the first time in three years, he felt the past reach for him again, asking him to choose between staying hidden or stepping back into a world that had already destroyed him once.
Christmas was coming.
And it was bringing something dark with it.