Chapter 2

She forced herself to move. To run. She no longer cared what board creeked; she wasn't sure he could even hear it over the banging. 

She needed to hide. The lock wouldn't stop him. There was nowhere for her in the living room or kitchen. 

She crossed the entryway and dropped to her knees, lifting the trapdoor to the root cellar. Darkness yawned beneath her. She climbed down and pulled the door closed above her, guiding it carefully so it wouldn’t slam shut.

Darkness closed around her as the trapdoor settled into place above her.

The house muted everything. Sound dulled under layers of earth and wood, turning the world into a thick, suffocating hush. She crouched low, knees drawn to her chest, the packed dirt cold beneath her skin. The air smelled of soil and stored vegetables. Familiar scents. Safe scents.

She pressed her hand over her mouth and waited.

She had replayed this moment in her head a dozen times over the past week. Every choice she had made. Every warning she had ignored. Every mistake that was made.

There had been no other way. This was always how it was destined to end. She had been too naive to see that. 

She would never let him touch her, and he would never accept her rejection. 

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Each breath felt too loud, too sharp, like it might betray her hiding place. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to slow it, to shrink herself into nothing.

Ignore the fear. Become smaller than it.

The front door slammed.

The sound carried through the house, distant but unmistakable. Her breath caught painfully in her chest. He was inside now. The lock had never been meant to stop him. It had only ever been a courtesy.

She shifted behind the sacks of potatoes, curling tighter, tucking her feet beneath her skirt. The cellar had always felt like a refuge when she was younger. Cool in the summer. Quiet. A place to hide from the noise of the world.

Tonight, it felt like a grave.

Footsteps crossed the floor above her. Slow. Deliberate. He was not rushing. He knew she had nowhere else to go.

She thought of her father then, sharp and sudden. Of his voice when he laughed, of the way he fixed the fence every spring even when it didn’t need fixing. She hoped he would not be the one to find her.

The trapdoor creaked.

Light spilled into the cellar in a thin, blinding slice. She squeezed her eyes shut as it widened, illuminating the dirt floor, the wooden beams, the neat rows of stored food.

She began to count.

Twenty.

The ladder shifted as weight pressed down on it.

Eighteen.

Boots scraped against wood.

Sixteen.

He descended slowly, one step at a time, as though savoring the moment.

Fifteen.

Her breath shook. She pressed her fingers harder against her lips, biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep from sobbing.

Thirteen.

His boots hit the dirt floor with a dull thud.

Twelve.

He crouched, his shadow stretching long and warped across the ground.

Ten.

His eyes scanned the room, sharp and hungry, lingering on every corner.

Eight.

She shrank back instinctively, but there was nowhere left to retreat.

Seven.

She saw his boots move closer. Felt the vibration through the earth beneath her.

Five.

The sacks in front of her shifted.

Four.

Her heart stuttered painfully.

Three.

The potatoes were torn away, spilling across the dirt.

Two.

She looked up.

One.

His face filled her vision. Too close. His breath was hot and sour as his hand closed around her arm and yanked her upright. She cried out despite herself as he crushed her against him, his grip bruising, possessive.

“This is where you were hiding,” he murmured, satisfaction dripping from his voice.

Fear burned through her, white-hot and wild. She struck at him with her fists, clawing, biting, fighting with everything she had left. He cursed and tightened his grip, dragging her back toward the center of the cellar.

She would not make this easy.

She would fight. She would bleed. She would make him work for it.

Even if it killed her.

Even if this dirt floor became her final resting place.

Her body trembled as she resisted him, as panic and fury tangled together in her chest. She thought of the house above them, of the walls that had held her laughter and her tears, of the life she had lived within them.

If this was her end, it would be here.

In the house where she had taken her first breath.