the line beneath claimed she might be unstable and in need of medication.
She laughed so hard it hurt her ribs.
‘I take ibuprofen,’ she said.
Silas did not smile. ‘That’s how they make people stop asking questions. They make the girl sound unreliable before she gets a turn.’
Ruby nearly ran that afternoon. Fear told her it would be easier to vanish deeper into the woods than wait for Wes to come angry. Silas stopped her without touching her. He stood on the porch, one hand braced against the railing, breath rough in his chest after carrying a load of wood.
‘He already knows how to hunt you when you’re alone,’ he said. ‘Staying hidden is what he wants. It keeps you tired. Keeps you scared. Keeps him ahead of the story.’
‘What if nobody helps?’ Ruby asked.
‘Then we make it harder for them not to.’
Over the next two days the cabin settled around her in small, disorienting ways. Silas set aside the mug with the easiest handle because nausea made her clumsy. He never entered the back room without knocking on the frame. He showed her the trail cameras mounted in the trees and said, ‘Nothing with two legs reaches this porch without me seeing it.’ He taught her where the bear spray hung by the door and how to flick the safety off with a thumb. When his breathing tightened after carrying wood, he sat down without pretending he did not need to. That honesty built more trust than any speech.
Jo returned with forms, groceries, and news. Wes Hadley had been at the gas station telling anyone who would listen that Ruby was dramatic, hormonal, and probably with some older boyfriend. Sheriff Minter, who played cards with Wes on Thursdays, was moving slow. State police were not. Jo needed a written statement in Ruby’s own words.
Ruby wrote until her hand cramped. Dates. Times. What was said. Where he hit. Where Denise stood. The page shook in places where memory still lived in muscle, but she did not stop. When she finished, Jo slid the pages into a folder as carefully as if they were glass.
Just before sunset, Wes’s truck rolled into the clearing with Denise in the passenger seat.
Silas opened the door but kept the screen latched.
Wes came up the steps wearing a clean flannel shirt and the smile Ruby hated most, the one he used in public. Denise climbed out slower, arms crossed tight over herself as though cold were the problem.
‘Evening,’ Wes said. ‘Looking for my stepdaughter.’
‘No one belongs to you here,’ Silas said.
Wes’s jaw twitched. ‘She’s a minor. She’s confused. Pregnant girls get ideas.’
Ruby stepped into view before fear could pin her. Her pulse hammered high in her throat, but her voice held. ‘I’m not confused. I left because you hit me.’
Denise made a strangled noise. Wes’s smile vanished.
‘Ruby,’ Denise whispered. ‘Come home. We can fix this.’
Ruby looked at the woman who had watched and watched and watched. ‘You had sixteen years.’
Wes took one hard step toward the screen. Silas lifted a finger toward the trail camera glinting under the eave.
‘From your truck to that step,’ he said, ‘everything is recording.’
Wes saw it. Saw the second camera
