I took another sip of the beer, though I didn't want it—didn't taste it. It sat bitter on my tongue, sharp and thin, and still didn't touch the heaviness building behind my ribs. The music had shifted, some old George Strait song now drifting through the dark, slow enough to feel like a memory but fast enough to keep people swaying near the fire.

They looked like shadows moving in rhythm, like joy was something they didn't have to work for.

And me? I felt like I was standing outside the glass, pressing my palm to it.

I scanned the crowd again, slower this time. My chest pulled tighter with each face that wasn't his. Every step I took made it worse, like the ground underneath had started tilting without telling me. Where the hell did he go?

The bottle in my hand slipped a little, sweat and glass slick against my palm. I kept moving anyway—past the fire, past the groups that had already lost track of the hour. Smoke and pine and whiskey laced the air, thick as fog. My boots crunched against the gravel near the trucks, and still, no Colt.

That shouldn't've mattered.

But it did.

And I hated that it did.

Because this wasn't the kind of need you speak out loud. It was quieter than that. Older. The kind that crept up when you'd already given everything else away and just wanted someone—him—to still be there when the dust cleared.

I rounded the end of a pickup, eyes still sweeping, the edge of my worry sharpening into something that felt too much like panic. I wasn't used to it. That untethered feeling. I didn't like it. Didn't trust it.

"Lookin' for someone?"

The voice cut through the quiet like a thorn snagging skin—too casual to be innocent, too close not to sting. I turned.

Jake stood there, half in shadow, half soaked in the bonfire's edge glow. He leaned against his truck, a beer dangling lazy in one hand, that cocky grin spreading like oil across water. Behind him, the rest of the boys lingered—Ryan, Wes, maybe a cousin or two I hadn't cared to learn the names of. All beer and boots and the kind of laughter that didn't invite you in.

I didn't answer at first. Just kept my chin up, eyes steady. But the tightness in my chest had a different rhythm now. Not fear. Not quite. Just the cold recognition of a space I didn't want to stand in.

"Yeah," I said finally, voice calm but clipped. "You seen Colt?"

Jake's smile ticked higher, slow and sure, like I'd handed him exactly what he wanted. He shifted his weight, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make a point.

"Colt Langmore, huh?" he said, low and amused. "Didn't peg you for the leash-and-collar type."

Heat rose in my chest, but I didn't let it show. Not for him. I just took a sip of the beer—still too warm, still no help—and let the pause settle between us like dust.

I met his eyes. Cool. Steady.

"Colt doesn't wear a leash," I said, voice quiet enough to make him lean in. "That's what makes him hard to catch."

The words I'd tossed to Jake clung to me, sticky and sharp. I'd meant them to land light, to brush off the moment and keep walking. But they hadn't. They'd lodged themselves deep, heavy in my chest like something I hadn't meant to admit.

Because Colt was wild. Not reckless, not foolish—just... untamed in a way you couldn't teach. He didn't belong to anyone. Didn't ask to. He was the kind of man who showed up because he wanted to, not because he was supposed to. And I think that's why I'd trusted him. He didn't make promises he didn't mean. He didn't say forever unless he could back it.

But now he was gone. And Jake's voice still echoed like gravel under my boots.

I didn't stick around for the punchline. Didn't care to see what Jake thought came next. I turned before the smirk could settle deeper on his face and walked. The laughter followed, thin and sharp, clinging to my back like burrs. It was the kind of sound that made your skin crawl—not because it was cruel, but because it thought it was clever. It was the kind of sound that told you: you're not one of us anymore.

And maybe I wasn't.

I passed the fire's edge, letting its heat roll off me like breath. The music was still playing, its melody soft around the corners but sharp in all the wrong places. My boots moved on their own, steps dragging, slow, but sure. I didn't know where I was going. Just knew I had to keep moving or I'd sink.

Then I saw him—Caleb—propped in the bed of his truck, guitar in his lap like it belonged there. His hat was low over his eyes, but his mouth held that easy curve, the one that said he wasn't in a hurry for anything. A girl I didn't know sat beside him, shoulder pressed to his, her laugh drifting light into the dark like she didn't have a care in the world.

For a second, I almost turned back. Almost let the music and the quiet swallow me whole. I didn't want to carry my ache into their warmth. Didn't want to spill something bitter where there was still sweetness left.

But that ache wasn't letting go.

And neither was the worry.

So I kept walking.

Caleb looked up just before I reached them. His fingers didn't stop strumming, but something in his eyes shifted—clear and sharp beneath the brim of his hat. "Lemon," he said, voice low, smooth. "Didn't expect to see you wanderin' out this far."

I tried to smile. Failed. The corners of my mouth pulled but didn't hold. "I'm looking for Colt," I said, words stiff with the shape of worry I didn't want to name. "You seen him?"

Caleb's fingers slowed, just for a second—barely long enough to call it hesitation, but I felt it. Like a drop in barometric pressure before a storm breaks. The girl beside him glanced over, her smile dimming like she could sense something slipping beneath the surface.

He straightened, pushing his hat back just enough for me to see the shift in his expression. The curve of his mouth didn't quite match the sharpness in his eyes. "Not since earlier," he said, strumming once more like it might make the moment pass smoother. "Figured he was still hangin' by the fire."

I shook my head before I could think better of it—too fast, too sharp. "He's not there."

His brows knit. Not tight, not dramatic. Just enough to show he knew something was off now too. He glanced over his shoulder, back toward the fire like he could will Colt to reappear. "Probably just needed some air," he offered, but the confidence was thin. "You know him. Likes to disappear when things get too loud."

"Yeah," I murmured, but it came out hollow. Like I was saying it for his sake, not mine.

Because this wasn't just Colt slipping off for a smoke or leaning against a fence post to get his thoughts straight. This felt different. Like the bottom had gone out of something, and I was the only one who could feel the drop.

Caleb saw it. The way my eyes wouldn't settle. The tension stretched tight across my shoulders. He set the guitar aside, his movements slower now, careful. "Want me to help look?" His voice had softened, lost the easy charm he usually wore like a second skin. This wasn't teasing. It was real. And that scared me more.

The girl beside him gave me a smile, polite and quiet. It wasn't pity, not yet. But it was close. Like she could feel the shift in the air but didn't have the right to ask.

"No," I said too fast. The word bit too hard at the edges. I tried to smooth it with a tight smile, but even I could feel how brittle it was. "It's okay. I'll find him."

Caleb studied me a second longer, the crease between his brows deepening. He didn't believe me. Not fully. But he nodded like he knew better than to push. "Alright," he said softly. "Just... holler if you need."

I gave him a half wave and turned before he could finish the thought. I didn't want kindness right now. Not even his. I just wanted to find Colt.

The deeper I walked, the more the night began to feel like something I didn't recognize.

Each step pulled me further from the warmth behind me—the crackling fire, the hum of guitars and voices, the illusion of safety that still clung to the edge of that world. Out here, that illusion didn't stand a chance. The cold came in layers. Not a shiver-on-your-skin kind of cold, but the kind that crawled into your bones and settled. The kind that made silence feel like it had teeth.

The trucks were scattered like forgotten things, their metal husks dipped in shadow. No headlights, no engines. Just empty shells now, waiting for their people to come back. I passed them like ghosts, gravel crunching under my boots in slow, deliberate rhythm. My breath felt loud in the air. Too loud.

Beyond them, the woods stood still and watching.

The trees stretched long and crooked, branches twisted like they'd grown hungry. They caught the moonlight in fractured pieces, casting it down in silver slashes that barely touched the ground. It wasn't just dark—it was quiet. That eerie, unnatural kind. Like even the insects had stopped to listen.

I paused at the edge of the trees, heart knocking like it had learned something before I had. Something about this felt wrong. Not in a storybook kind of way, not some girl-walking-into-the-woods-alone cliché. No, this was gut-deep. Real. The kind of wrong you can't name, only feel.

I looked back once.

The fire was a flicker now—small, flickering orange light trying its best to hold the night back. But it wasn't enough. Not from here. The laughter, the music... it didn't reach this far. I'd already crossed some invisible line.

And Colt wasn't in that firelight.

He was somewhere past it. Somewhere in here.

I stepped forward.

The path—if you could call it that—felt like it had been forgotten by the world. Just earth worn down by boots and time, choked by roots, half-sunk beneath dead leaves that muffled more than they gave. It didn't guide me. It let me pass, barely.

Every step cracked something open. Twigs snapped like bones. My breath pushed past my lips too fast. The silence didn't absorb it. It pushed it back. Every sound I made felt wrong—too human in a place that wasn't made for people.

But I kept moving.

The woods swallowed me slow.

With every step, it felt like the world I knew was slipping off my shoulders—peeling away in layers, until it was just me and the dark and the sound of my own breath. Branches whispered above, too soft to be wind, too alive to be still. They didn't creak. They listened.

I wasn't afraid. Not exactly.

But I was alert in a way that only comes when something in you has already decided not to be caught off guard. My hands stayed loose by my sides, fingers twitching every so often like they didn't know what they wanted to reach for. Maybe his hand. Maybe nothing at all.

"Colt?" I called, voice low but steady, like saying it quiet might make it truer.

Nothing answered.

The silence wasn't empty—it was full. Full of things I couldn't name. The kind of quiet that wrapped around your ankles and made you second guess the earth beneath your feet.

I stepped over a fallen log, half-rotted, its bark soft and crumbling under my heel. The scent of damp earth clung thick—mud, moss, that sweet rot of leaves that had been dead too long to remember what sunlight felt like. The deeper I went, the more the cold started to change. It didn't bite—it settled. In my joints. In my chest.

Something about it felt old.

Not haunted, not cursed. Just... watching.

I kept moving, even though everything in me wanted to stop. Not turn back, just stop. Like maybe if I stood still long enough, he'd find me instead. But I knew better than that.

Colt didn't come when called. He showed up when it mattered.

And something in me—something small and sharp and stubborn—believed he would've if he could.

Which meant maybe he couldn't.

The thought landed hard.

"Colt," I tried again. My voice cracked this time, not loud, just worn. Like maybe it had been carrying more than it should've for too long.

A crow cried out somewhere above me—sudden and harsh, its wings slicing air I hadn't even realized had gone still. I froze. Breath hitched. Listened.

Nothing.

Then—

Laughter.