Page 33 of Protector of Talon Mountain

SADIE

Maggie’s headstone is simple. Smooth granite, a little weather-worn now, set just back from the spruce line where the snow always melts slower. It doesn’t say much—just her name, a dash of dates, and a line she used to say every time I doubted myself:Make good things, anyway.

I stand there with icy fingers shoved deep in my coat pockets, breath ghosting in the morning air, heart still echoing from Zeke’s kiss the night before.

I haven’t been here in months. Not since the first note. Not since I started counting shadows again and checking locks twice, sometimes three times, before going to bed.

I swallow hard and drop to a crouch, brushing away a few pine needles that have settled near the base of the stone.

“Hey, Maggie.” My voice comes out quiet, a little hoarse. “Sorry, it’s been a while.”

There’s no one else out here. No wind, no birds. Just the trees creaking under old snow and the heaviness in my chest that doesn’t seem to go away anymore.

“I should’ve come sooner. I just… I didn’t want to bring this here. But you’d see through it anyway, wouldn’t you?” My laugh is brittle. “I’m scared. Again.”

I blink hard, eyes burning even as the cold bites at my skin. “It’s happening all over. The notes, the watching, the waiting for something to snap. I told myself I left that behind in Anchorage. I convinced myself that I had moved on from being the kind of woman who flinches every time a car door slams. But I’m not. I thought I could build something safe here. Quiet. But the quiet isn’t safe anymore, Maggie. It’s just silent.”

My throat tightens as I sit back on my heels. “And Zeke…”

His name alone makes something twist low in my stomach. Last night comes back in sharp pieces—his hand at my jaw, the heat of his mouth on mine, the way he kissed me like it wasn’t a question. Like he already knew the answer. Like he’d waited long enough.

“I don’t know what to do with him,” I whisper. “He’s… different. He doesn’t crowd me. He doesn’t pull. He just stands there like a goddamn mountain and waits for me to decide. And that should make it easier, right? But it doesn’t. Because I think if I fall for him, it’s going to be real. And if it’s real, I don’t know if I’ll survive losing it.”

I reach up, rub the heel of my hand against my chest like I can ease the pressure there. It doesn’t help. Not when the past still lingers like smoke in my lungs.

The flashback hits hard, fast. Not a memory, exactly. More like muscle-deep recall. The kind that pulls breath from your body before your brain catches up.

* * *

Anchorage, Alaska

Four Years Ago

Brent’s voice was calm. It always was. That’s what made it so easy for people to believe him. He didn’t shout. He didn’t throw things. He just… shifted the temperature in a room with a look.

“You can’t keep talking to me like that,” I’d said, crossing my arms tight, trying to hold my ground.

Brent didn’t raise his voice. He never had to. “You think I don’t know what’s best for us? For you?”

“I’m not a child…”

“Then stop acting like one.” He stepped forward, and I remember the way his shadow fell across my feet. “You run your mouth too freely, Sadie. One day, someone’s going to shut it for you. And I won’t stop them.”

He said it with a smile. He kissed my cheek after. And I remember thinking—he didn’t hit you, so it doesn’t count. He didn’t leave a bruise, so you can’t call it abuse.

I believed that for too long.

Now, back at Maggie’s grave, I press my forehead against my knees. Let the cold soak into my bones. Let the truth settle without flinching.

Zeke’s not like him. I know that. Every part of me knows that. He doesn’t make me small. He makes the world feel bigger—like there’s room to breathe again. And that’s what terrifies me. Because if he’s real, then I don’t get to pretend anymore. I don’t get to keep hiding behind flour and early mornings and the lie that I’m fine on my own.

“I think I’m falling for him,” I say to the granite. “And I don’t know how to do that without losing something of myself.”

The wind picks up again. Just a breath of it, but enough to remind me I can’t stay out here forever. I rise slowly, knees stiff from the cold, and press my hand to the top of the headstone.

“Keep an eye on me,” I whisper. “Because I think everything’s about to change.”

I head back to town with my coat zipped high and my scarf pulled tight, but none of it keeps out the warmth rising in my chest—or the chill of what might come next.

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