Page 82 of Snowman

“Lena died last night,” he said. “And Laura is still missing.” He swallowed hard. “If they look into it… if they find the farm and what’s on it… this could all be the end.”

His words hit me, leaving me frozen on the steps. My heart pounded, not just at the thought of what had happened, but at what might come next. Lena was gone. And Laura... the thought of her, out there somewhere, sent a chill through me colder than the snow outside.

Fear clawed at me, threatening to spill out, but I couldn’t show it. I couldn’t tell him that the thought of her return terrified me, thought of her chaos. She was my mom, but she was never real. Deep down, I was afraid. Afraid of what she would do if they found her alive. Afraid of what it would mean forus.

I didn’t know Lena well, but I knew she cared about him. Even in her cold, distant way, she was still his mother. And in their own twisted, complicated way, they loved each other. My heart broke for him.

There were no tears in his eyes, the icy blue that usually sparkled had deepened, and darkened. They looked more like mine now, ocean blue, muted as if all the light in them had drowned. As if we both lost that spark for life, with nothing left to light it again.

Our eyes locked, two waves crashing into each other, drowning together, searching for something, anything, to cling to.

“I’m sorry about Lena,” I said softly. “I never thought… I didn’t expect her to leave so soon.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice distant. “Me neither.”

He stepped closer, brushing his lips against my forehead. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said quietly. “If you want to eat, the fridge is full.”

“Oh.” The word fell out of me before I could stop it. I wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t want food, I wanted him. I wanted himto stay, to let me hold him, to let me help with the pain he was carrying. But I didn’t push.

“Have a nice shower,” I said instead.

He walked past me, his footsteps slow and disappeared up the stairs toward the bedroom.

I stayed where I was, standing in the hallway, staring at the space he just left. When I heard the soft click of the bedroom door closing, I felt pain swell in my chest.

I forced myself to move, turning back to the mess scattered around the room. The ripped clothes, the antlers, and one by one, I took them in my arms, and with my hands full, I walked into the kitchen.

I opened the trash bin and began to toss everything away. Each piece felt heavier than it should have, like I was discarding parts of myself.

I wanted him.

It had been thirty minutes. The longest thirty minutes of my life. Even though we were in the same house, it felt like we were worlds apart. I hadn’t seen him, but I noticed the axe was gone from the door, and the guns that hung on the walls, were gone, too. From upstairs, I heard the metallic clicks of a chest being locked.

He was putting everything away.

He was afraid. Afraid of hurting me again.

Tears blurred my eyes as I stood there. He didn’t understand. He thought the pain he caused would break me, but it didn’t. It wasn’t the pain that threatened to ruin me, it was the distance, that I was away from him.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, startling me. I turned toward the sound, my breath catching as two blurred shadows moved behind the blurred glass pane beside the door.

I hesitated, then walked over and opened it.

Standing on the porch were two people. The woman was in her mid-thirties, with sharp whiskey-brown eyes and her dark hair tied in a ponytail. She wore a gray suit with a light blue shirt beneath it. Around her neck hung a badge, but not a detective one, but something else, something official. Her eyes cut through me, scanning me.

Beside her was a man.Isak.

“Hi, Bree,” he said. “I see you’re well.”

I nodded, caught off guard, but before I could say a word, the woman spoke.

“May we come in?” Her voice was professional. “We’re colleagues of Thor Karlsson. This is his house, isn’t it?”

I nodded again, stepping aside. “Yes,” I said softly.

As they entered, I closed the door behind them. My mind raced, wondering what this was about, but before I could call for Thor, he appeared.

He stood at the top of the staircase, dressed in a black shirt and matching trousers. His hair was swept back, though a few strands fell loosely onto his forehead. His blue eyes were icy again.

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