Page 129 of Hunted in the Shadows
Goosebumps prickled on my arms as I recalled the rasped words she had offered tome, too.
I side-eyed Cliff’s profile. His jaw was squared hard enough to make a vein in his neck visible, but his eyebrows were unknit. He was working hardto school his expression—a dead giveaway to anyone who knew him well. It was an odd comfort that he was just as creeped out by the prophecy as I was.
Gwen took Hannah’s hand and squeezed it. Finally, with some obvious embarrassment, Hannah cleared her throat.
“Can’t remember a thing. That’s how it is with everyone who has the gift in my family.” She smirked half-heartedly. “Total client confidentiality. I think Tante Halle records her sessions so she can keep track of her predictions.”
“And you didn’t know anything supernatural existed beyond that?” Cliff asked skeptically.
“Can’t say I wasn’t a little curious, but my dad was on my side when he saw how much the gift scared me. He was quick to shut down any talk about visions, prophecies, and the supernatural at family get-togethers when I was in earshot—and I was grateful for it. I guess I never had the chance to cross paths with anything else.”
Gwen scoffed. “At least none that youknewof. Hell, I don’t know how you managed to survive until I came along.”
“Myhero.” Hannah nudged Gwen with her hip, eyes sparkling. “When she stuck around after witnessing one of my episodes, I knew she was the one. Obviously, I didn’t know she’d seen much worse before.”
Gwen glanced at Hannah’s lips before looking back at us, momentarily riveted by the memory. “I didn’t feel right leaving her alone after the wraith. I couldn’t, you know? Not with the outpost right in her backyard. The idea of one of those trigger-happy idiots mistaking her for a coven clairvoyant…”
She looked sharply to the slit of sunlight pouring in through the curtains as a shadow passed over the living room. A passing car—but I couldn’t blame her for being jumpy. We were all on a running clock. Rhett’s chances of survival didn’t seem likely, but any other survivors of the massacre might have us on their radar—especially with how hellbent they had been about targeting Cliff in particular.
“This place became home before I knew it,” Gwen finished softly.
A sense of heaviness settled over the room after that—because this wouldn’t behomefor much longer, and it was our fault. I felt Sylvia shift restlessly on my shoulder, no doubt playing with her hair as she waded through the same guilt.
“Have you ever been wrong?” Sylvia asked, her melodic voice strained at the edges like she had been bottling up the question for hours. “About the prophecies?”
Hannah’s gaze rested on Sylvia with a sadness that seemed to age her. My stomach twisted as I remembered the haunted way Sylvia had regarded me when we left the garage that day.Her love will ruin you. It could have meantanyone, it could have been bullshit—but my sweetest assurances couldn’t heal Sylvia’s worry.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Hannah said. “But please—don’t let it eat at you. I’m a firm believer that destiny is the wheel of a car. We get to steer it.”
She offered us a crooked smile, bearing the weight of grief and hope all at once. A weight I knew well. Hannah bent down to peck Gwen’s cheek, and excused herself to pull theChallengeraround front for us. Cliff looked longingly after the jingle of keys that she had pried from his hands. Despite everything, I smiled. Cliff was going to be insufferable for the next few months on the road, playing with his new toy.
While we transported a few more boxes, Gwen fetched us glasses of lemonade from the dining room. I was surprised when she came back with a thimble for Sylvia, who was too stunned to thank her in more than a stammer.
“Another one of Hannah’s recipes?” I asked.
“Mine, actually,” Gwen chirped. “If you count thawing a can of concentrate.”
Gwen stopped in front of Cliff, reaching a hand inside his jacket. I stopped with my glass halfway to my mouth, watching how he froze up. Her hand grazed over his chest, rooting into the inner pocket—helping herself to his flask. She emptied what was left of the whiskey into her glass and gave him a look through her lashes as if to challenge thatyes,he owed her this. She took a seat on one of the sealed moving boxes and indulged in a long gulp.
“Where’s next for you?” Gwen asked.
“West,” Sylvia announced.
“Right, the hitchhiking. You catch wind of something out there?” Gwen asked.
Cliff’s eyes cut toward Sylvia, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Something like that,” he said.
Gwen glanced between the three of us flatly. “That’s all I get?” She scoffed around another sip. “Well, maybe it’s better I don’t know. Just don’t get yourself killed out there.”
Cliff gave a strangely knowing chuckle that made Gwen send him a sharp look.
“What are you smirking about?” she snapped, elegant brows furrowing.
Cliff sauntered to her, taking his flask back. He tucked it back out of sight, looking down at her with that insufferable crooked smile. “You’re still soft on me,” he said, though there was nothing smug in his voice. His broad shoulders pinched in a shrug. “I spent a long time thinking you hated my guts.”
Her guarded frown shattered, giving way to a softer gaze as she chewed on her cheek. “I never hated you, Cliff. Even when I tried to.”
She set her glass aside and stood, putting them chest-to-chest. She still looked so fragile to him, the top of her head scarcely hitting Cliff’s collarbone—though I knew there was nothingdelicateabout what she was capable of.
