Page 163 of Let Me In

And then—

The vial.

Clear.

Small.

Unassuming.

Lethal.

I stare at it for a beat longer than I should, the glass catching a sliver of dim light. Let the cold kiss of glass rest against my skin. It hums in my palm, a reminder of just how far I'm willing to go. My jaw tightens, chest cinching around something old and unrelenting. There’s no tremble in my grip, but there is weight. History. Intention.

Then I slide it into the inner pocket of my jacket.

I close the floor, replace the rug, and stand up to look around once.

The room is dark. Still. Hers.

She’s not in here—but I see her everywhere.

The quiet hum of her lingers in the room. Lavender and tea and the lotion I rubbed into her skin not an hour ago.

I whisper it... not a threat, not a prayer. Just truth.

“This is for her.”

And then I leave.

The gravel crunches under my boots as I cross the drive.

Not loud.

Just enough to remind the trees I’m coming.

The Watcher is in position—out of sight now, but I know exactly where he’s posted. Hidden between the trees with a rifle that won’t miss. He won’t take a shot unless he has to.

He won’t need to.

That’s my job.

I reach the truck. Slide into the driver’s seat.

Start the engine without hesitation.

Lights off.

The cabin behind me stays dark.

But I feel her in it.

Like the weight of her lingers in the air. Settling in my chest. Soothing something jagged. My breath softens without me meaning it to.

Sleeping in my flannel, and warm and safe beneath the quilt I wrapped around her shoulders. The sight of her like that—nestled in what used to be just mine—stirs something fierce and aching in my chest. Reverence, yes, but also a bone-deep protectiveness that roots me right there, breath caught, heart slowed, like the world narrowed to her resting against my absence. Her hair spread across my pillow. Her scent in the sheets.

Mine.

I check the tracker again.

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