And when I finally got to West Paine to create a safe haven for both of us, Jack rejected me at every turn.

I need to find a way to make him suffer. It’s the only way I’ll finally let go. Maybe then I can rebuild the oasis I’ve created at West Paine and embrace its sun and shadows on my own.

I take Jack’s trophy lighter from my pocket and flick the lid open, striking the flint wheel to bring the flame to life. It feels wrong to set the edge of the photo to the fire, but I do it anyway. I let it consume the paper until it scorches my fingertips, and only then do I let it go, dropping the burning photograph to the worn planks at my feet. My boot grinds the fire and ash into the floor and then I leave my cabin to drop Cornetto safely at home before I drive to the Bass Research Fields.

I text Dr. Cannon when I’m parked to let him know I’ve arrived, and he responds right away, though I know he won’t come around to check on me. The search party had nearly finished a sweep of the grounds when they alerted Dr. Cannon to an animal behaving strangely within the farmlands adjacent to the research grounds. It was an empty-handed search anyway, of course, and most people seem to have left. There are a few cars in the parking lot but I don’t see anyone as I remove the rifle and my pack from the back of my Land Rover. I don’t enter the building, I don’t look at the windows of the labs. I just walk toward the fields with my head down, searching for signs of my quarry.

The fifty acre plot of the Bass River Research Fields isn’t a huge space to roam, but it is full of wooded patches and creeks and fields, surrounded by a mix of farmland and sparse forest. Plenty of space for creatures to hide and roam, to build dens and raise young. With the abundance of easy food for scavengers, many of those creatures stay close and aren’t hard to find if you know where to look. And it doesn’t take me more than twenty minutes to spot what I’m looking for.

I set my blanket down on the crisp, frosted grass, still within view of the research labs at my back. I lay down on my belly and adjust my scope, but I don’t take the shot. I just watch for a while, letting the cold and the quiet wash over me, allowing the knot of regret to twist tighter around my throat as I follow the solitary beast in my crosshairs.

“You shouldn’t be out here, Dr. Roth.”

I huff a breath of a laugh, but I don’t look up from the view through my scope.

“You think I would take the risk without permission? In broad daylight? With a fucking rifle? You must still think so little of me, Dr. Sorensen.”

I hear the smile in Jack’s voice when he speaks, as faint as that grin might be. “I meant there’s a probable killer on the loose. You shouldn’t be out here alone. For appearances.”

“Rifle, Jack.”

Jack stops next to me, his worn Blundstones halting in my periphery at the edge of my waterproof blanket. For a long moment there’s silence between us, just the sounds of birds and the rustle of grasses to fill the gaps in my patience. I’m sure Jack is weighing the potential benefit of kicking me in the head against the possibility of being shot in the balls. But, surprisingly, he doesn’t move to take the risk.

“You weren’t with the search party,” Jack says instead.

“Nope.”

“Why would that be?”

I shrug, not taking my eye from the scope. “I had more important shit to do.”

There’s a quiet moment where I think he’s going to admonish me for not making an appearance at the search, but the silence stretches on with no cutting remark from Jack. “You’re not in camouflage,” he observes instead.

“No. I won’t need it today,” I reply, my voice low and smooth and quiet, like a solemn prayer in an empty church. “And hopefully I’ll scare away anything sane enough to notice.”

I glance up at Jack. His eyes are caught on the horizon where my scope is aimed, his gaze is roaming across the landscape as he searches for my quarry. When I follow the line of my scope I can see her in the distance. Head down. Tawny fur. A broken stride.

“CBF-14,” I say, shimmying to the left on the blanket. I open my palms around the rifle, looking up to meet the question in Jack’s eyes. “Take a look.”

Jack doesn’t step closer, nor does he remove his hands from his jacket pockets. He just turns his head to give me an assessing, doubtful look from the corner of his eye. “You want to give me your weapon, Dr. Roth?”

“Shooting me in the head on the campus grounds is hardly your style. If you wanted to kill me, which I’m sure you do, you’d prefer something far more private and…intimate…than that.” I fold my bottom lip between my teeth when Jack’s gaze falls to my seductive, knowing grin. A dark giggle bubbles in my throat as his eyes narrow, his pupils devouring his silver irises until only a thin band of color remains. My smile turns a shade more wicked in reply. “Why do you think I wear my hair up with that plum-colored shirt with the bow collar on the days when I want to annoy you the most, hmm? You know, the one with the decorative little frilly bit right here?” I ask as I turn my head to expose my throat to the cold autumn air, twinkling my fingers along my skin.

“I loathe that shirt.”

“I know. It’s the built-in ligature. So close to strangulation, and yet so far. Such a tease.” I force my brief laugh to sound more sardonic than it feels as I shuffle an inch or two further to the left and offer the rifle once more. “Come on. I won’t bite…this time.”

A crease flickers between Jack’s brows. For a moment, I think he’ll just walk away, leaving some cold and cutting words in his wake. But he steps closer instead, his eyes not leaving mine as he kneels next to me, their cool, metallic glimmer burrowing into my soul until the moment the rifle is firmly in his grip. My smile fades away as the scent of vetiver rises above the smell of crushed, cool grass and damp earth. Jack lays on his stomach next to me, propped on his elbows, looking just as natural with a rifle in his hands as he does with a champagne flute and a pristine black suit at a gala event.

“Where do I look?” Jack asks, his attention falling to my lips for the span of a fleeting breath before he nestles the rifle to his shoulder and focuses on the horizon.

“On the rise, to the right of the pines,” I reply, gathering the frayed ends of my scattering thoughts. A swirl of regret is all that’s left when I follow the barrel of the gun. “A coyote.”

Jack nods, his right eye trained on the scope, his left squeezed shut. “I’ve got it.”

“Her, not it,” I correct, but gently. “What do you see?”

“A coyote.”

I roll my eyes. “You obstinate fuck. What do you—”

“She seems disoriented.” I almost choke on my saliva at the hint of amusement in Jack’s voice. I look over in time to catch a vanishing grin, but he doesn’t pull his gaze from the scope. That smile fades into something more serious as he watches the animal struggling in the distance. “She just stumbled. She’s injured…no, she’s sick.”

“You sound sure. Why?” I ask, though I already know he’s correct.

“Her body language. Her head and ears are down. She seems like she’s…reacting to something. Not us? Not our scent?”

“No. The wind is favorable to our position. Even if it carried to her, I doubt she’d run.”

Jack shifts his attention away from the coyote. His piercing intellect lands on me with the weight of a blade. I try to push a wall up between us, but I feel his scrutiny in every cell of my body. Jack doesn’t just look at me, he looks into me.

“Did you come from a hunting family?” he asks as he surveys the details of my face.

“Yes. My dad. He started taking me with him when I was ten.” An ember burns in my chest, the lick of flame coating old scars in heat. Jack looks at me as though I’ll elaborate, as though a simple question or two will cause me to just spill all the details he hasn’t earned. Even still, the past feels like it’s crawling up my throat, begging to be let out. “My dad took me hunting because I wanted to go. I didn’t have a shitty childhood, if that’s what you’re digging for,” I say, tearing my gaze away, though I can still feel him watching me. “It was picture perfect.”