Page 12 of Traithorn

They’ve taped off a larger section of the woodland, yellow lines markedDo Not Crossflapping in the heavier wind that drives snow into my face, so much so that I have to hide behind the blanket the paramedic offered me. I snuggle deeper into it as she checks me over, making sure I have no physical injuries.

I’ve been distant since finding the body—a state of shock born from pure terror.

Everything feels colder, more sinister, than before. As if a perpetual shadow has settled over the town, sweeping through it with a wave of helplessness. This is the second murder to shake our quiet streets since my parents died, and it’s no wonder people are curious.

A cluster of onlookers gathers beyond the perimeters in a bustle of excited activity, journalists joining them while scribbling in notepads and snapping photos in bursts of flashes to try to capture whatever happens inside the taped-off area. One camera flash nearly blinds me for a second when I realize it’s aimed directly at me. I turn my back on them sharply.

I’m in the back of an ambulance, my legs dangling back and forth above ground as the paramedic finishes checking me over. Once she’s satisfied I’m unharmed, she steps away, leaving me alone with Casper.

Heavy tension lingers in the air, turning into something acidic the more seconds that pass. I stay silent, not knowing what to say. Does he suspect it’s me this time, too?

“Is this the same motive as the Duskvik family?” a reporter shouts through the crowd of people, trying to get the attention of a police officer who swiftly ignores their question.

The question, in turn, makes me blanch. A thick cloud of poison that’s destroying everything in its path, making the air harder to draw into my lungs, much like tar. I still recall the commotion around my parents. How the reporters used to stand outside my house day after day, shouting their intrusive questions and trying to peek inside my house when the curtains were the slightest bit open, all the while ultimately harassing me. It was as if some mediocre respect never was on their radar. I couldn’t even leave my house without being swarmed by them.

Eventually, I was forced to move. A few months later, I met Casper in a local pub while drowning my sorrows in a drink or two. He was the town’s new police deputy, having moved to our small town after being offered a promotion.

I’ve been with him ever since.

“Isolde?” Casper asks, catching my attention and making me realize I zoned out.

I lift my gaze to meet his stoic eyes, his cheeks flushed red from the frigid air, and his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. One might assume he’s uncomfortable standing like that—rigid in the cold while trying to keep his hands warm—but he’s the opposite; completely at ease, without a care in the world. And I’m the sole focus of his attention. Somehow, that plants a sour feeling deep in my stomach.

He’s not on duty, but he acts like he is with the way he assesses the grounds, silent and on guard, as if the murderer can jump out at any second and strike again.

I open my mouth to reply, but no words escape. I’m all empty—a sheer shell.

“Sir?” One of the forensics walks up to Casper briskly. Casper turns to look at them, and the loss of his gaze on me makes me slightly relax. “The tests came back negative.”

My boyfriend offers the forensic a curt nod, watching the man walk away before turning to look at me. “The DNA for the first murder,” he supplies.

My shoulders stiffen, taking in his gaze that doesn’t look remotely guilty. Everything suddenly makes sense—why he was at my apartment, why he came here late when I called him over an hour ago. I tighten the grip around the blanket, the only shield protecting me from him.

“What do you mean?”

I know what he means, but he needs to confirm it using his own words.

“I tested your DNA. Negative. You’re safe. For now.”

Fists clenching around the blanket, I’m on the verge of tearing the fabric apart with my bare nails while tar radiates through me like a tide. Sick and ugly. My eyes flare. “What the actual fuck, Casper?”

Those broad shoulders merely shrug, as if this is no big deal. Only a minor misconception that will be forgotten within the next minute. He’s pouring gasoline on an already raging fire, erupting inside me until it’s inextinguishable.

“A relationship comes with trust!”

Scoffing, he casts me a meticulous look I cannot even begin to comprehend. “You’re one to talk,” he fires back.

I stop what I’m doing, freezing in place. I’m sure my face drains of all color as I stare at him, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. His expression doesn’t give anything away, nor does the flat line of his lips. “We’ll take this later,” he curtly says.

I’m about to protest, wanting to spit out every hurtful comment I can come up with, when he suddenly stops me. Hegrabs something from his pocket.

It’s a black envelope.

The one he was talking about on the phone earlier. Swallowing the lump forming in my throat, I stare at it for a beat before daring to reach out for it. My hands shake worse than an aspen leaf, and it feels as if the forest spins around me. Uncontrollable in its force, about to sweep me off my feet and suffocate me in the cold snow.

“Open it,” Casper demands.

At his words, I think about how much I, despite everything, truly hate him. How I never truly loved him. He only entered my life when all I needed was someone by my side, seducing me into a one-night stand, andfinallygiving me the attention I had sought for so long. Lonely and desperate, he became the sole reason for my existence when my entire life was shredded to the tiniest of pieces.

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