The cabin was too quiet.Not the peaceful kind of quiet—the kind that hummed with tension, vibrating just beneath the skin. Every shadow stretched too long, every creak of the floorboards felt too loud. Even the fire in the hearth seemed to burn with suspicion, its flicker casting more menace than warmth.I stood at the window, my fingertips brushing over the cold iron shutters. My reflection wavered against the faint glow of firelight, pale and restless, eyes hollowed by sleepless nights. Behind me, Xavier moved with an energy that seemed endless—sharpening knives, rechecking ammunition, pacing like a caged animal waiting for the fight to begin.This wasn’t just survival. This was preparation for war.And I was in the middle of it.I turned to face him, watching as he holstered a handgun with clinical precision. His movements were practiced, efficient, too smooth to belong to someone who’d only picked up weapons in moments of desperation. This was his world. A world he’d been born in
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