Chapter 20

Four years ago, the rain didn’t just fall; it hammered against the hunting lodge near The Peaks, a rhythmic drumming that leaked through the rotting wood of the ceiling. Chloe Vance lay in the dark, watching the water drip into a rusted tin can. The air was frigid, smelling of damp earth and old pine. Beside her, Jake was a steady, rhythmic presence under a pile of moth-eaten blankets. "Jake?" she whispered. He didn't move. His breathing remained deep and even, his face slack in the pale...