Page 8 of Shadow of Misty Mountain

Nick’s voice is in my head. ‘She’s smart, Holt. Fierce. And stubborn as hell. You’d like her.’

I already do. That’s a problem.

She pushes the bowl away and leans back. “That was amazing.”

“You’ll sleep in the loft,” I say. “The stairs are steep. Don’t fall.”

She raises both eyebrows. “You’re very charming, you know that?”

I step closer. Watch her eyes widen just a fraction. “I’m not here to charm you, Abby. I’m here to figure out why the hell someone’s targeting the sister of a dead SEAL and dragging me back into a fight I didn’t start.”

“You think I wanted to be here?”

“You showed up on my porch.”

She stands, fire sparking in her gaze. “Because I had nowhere else to go.”

I tower over her. Let the silence sit there. Her breathing’s quick now. Not fear. Something else. Something we both feel but neither of us intends to act on.

“You get one night,” I say. “Then we talk. No lies. No games.”

She nods slowly. “Fair.”

I walk past her, climb the stairs to the loft and yank a spare set of blankets from the chest. I don’t look back. If I do, I might say something I can’t take back… and I’ve made enough mistakes to know better. I come back down.

She doesn’t go upstairs—not at first.

I hear her behind me, hovering at the edge of the main room like she’s debating whether to let me disappear or press her luck. I keep my back to her, pretending to double-check the locks on the front door, even though I’ve already done it twice. She’s not making a sound, but I can feel her eyes on me—curious, sharp, unyielding.

She's like Nick that way. She doesn’t rattle easily. That should make her easier to deal with. It doesn’t. It makes her dangerous. She doesn’t know when to stop.

“You knew him better than anyone,” she says quietly. “My brother.”

I don’t answer.

She keeps going, walking deeper into the cabin, each word gaining steam. “He described you as if you were made of stone.” Untouchable. Deadly. But he trusted you. Swore you’d protect me if anything ever happened to him.”

I turn slowly. Meet her gaze head-on. She’s close now, standing by the fireplace, arms clutching the blanket, and crossed over her chest. Not defensive. Not scared. Like she’s holding herself in place so she doesn’t grab me by the collar and shake answers out of me.

“What happened to him, Travis?” she asks.

Her voice wobbles at the edges—not enough to break, but enough to let me know this matters more than anything else in the world to her. It’s not a performance. It’s personal. Deep.

I walk past her to the hearth, throw another log on the fire, and stir the coals with the iron poker. Sparks leap, crackling loud in the space between us.

“I deserve the truth,” she says. “He was my brother.”

“And he was my man,” I growl, turning back. “He was under my command. My responsibility. I buried five men that day, and none of them should’ve died. If you think I sleep at night without seeing their faces, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

Her mouth parts. She doesn’t speak.

“Whatever story you think you’re owed, Abby,” I say, voice hard, “the truth won’t bring him back. And it sure as hell won’t keep you alive if you keep asking the wrong questions.”

“You think I haven’t figured that out?” She steps forward now, chin raised. “I had some guy with a knife standing not far from my bed two nights ago. I haven’t slept since. The only thing I did differently that day was stumble on your name. I’m not here for closure, Travis. I’m here because somebody thinks I know something. And if I’m going to stay alive long enough to figure out why, I need to know what really happened to Nick.”

I cross the room in two strides. She stiffens but doesn’t back away.

“Let me be clear, I don’t owe you a damn thing,” I say, voice low, controlled. “But I gave your brother my word. If anything ever happened to him and you needed me, I’d protect you.”

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