Dawn came gray and bitter.
Dana checked the perimeter first, walking the fence line with her rifle ready.
The wire had held overnight, but something had tested it near the eastern edge.
Claw marks in the bark, too big for a raccoon.
Maybe a bear, though they should be denning by now.
She repaired the gap where she'd cut through to reach the boy, then headed back to the house.
The cellar door remained undisturbed.
Dana made coffee and fried two eggs in the cast iron pan.
The boy—Luca—would need protein to heal.
She cut thick slices from yesterday's bread and wrapped everything in a clean towel.
The cellar door opened with its familiar creak.
Luca sat exactly where she'd left him, back against the wall.
His color had improved, but he moved carefully, favoring his injured side.
"Breakfast."
Dana set the wrapped food beside him, along with a bottle of water.
Luca unwrapped the bundle and stared at the eggs.
Steam rose from the yellow yolks, and his throat worked as he swallowed.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Eat it."
She watched him tear off a piece of bread and dip it in the egg.
His hands trembled slightly—hunger, not fear.
When was the last time he'd eaten a hot meal?
"How long were you in the woods?" Dana asked.
Luca chewed slowly, thinking.
"Three days. Maybe four."
"Running from what?"
The boy's hand stilled.
He set down the bread and looked up at her.
"People who want me dead."
"Because?"
"Because of who my father was."
Dana waited for more, but Luca returned to his meal.
He ate methodically, forcing himself to go slow.
Someone had taught him that—probably the hard way.
"Your father alive?" she asked.
"No."
"But his enemies are."
Luca nodded.
Dana climbed the stairs without another word.
The boy's problems were starting to take shape, and she didn't like what she saw.
Dead fathers meant unfinished business.
Unfinished business meant people with long memories and nothing left to lose.
She spent the day working—chopping wood, checking traps, cleaning her weapons.
Normal tasks that felt anything but normal with a stranger bleeding in her cellar.
Every sound made her look up.
Every shadow in her peripheral vision might be a threat.
At noon, she brought Luca more food and fresh bandages.
He submitted to her examination without complaint, letting her check the stitches and rebind his ribs.
The wound was healing clean, no signs of infection.
"You know first aid," he said as she worked.
"I know enough."
"You were a medic."
Dana's hands paused.
"What makes you say that?"
"The way you work. No wasted motion. You've done this before."
Smart kid.
Too smart, maybe.
"Army reserves," she said finally.
"Long time ago."
Luca nodded as if that explained everything.
Maybe it did.
Night fell early, the way it did in December.
Dana ate her own dinner upstairs—canned beans and stale crackers.
The wind picked up outside, rattling the windows and making the old house creak.
She checked on Luca one more time before bed.
He lay curled on his side, breathing deep and regular.
Sleep, finally.
Dana settled into the kitchen chair she'd positioned over the cellar door.
She'd learned to sleep light years ago, but tonight felt different.
Tonight, she had something to protect.
Or something to watch.
The distinction mattered less than she'd expected.
Around midnight, the sounds started.
At first, just restless shifting.
The scrape of cloth against stone.
Then mumbled words, too quiet to understand.
Dana pressed her ear to the cellar door.
Luca was talking in his sleep, his voice tight with distress.
"Please," he whispered.
"I won't... I won't tell anyone."
The words came faster, more urgent.
"Please don't make me watch. Please."
Dana's chest tightened.
She'd heard that tone before, in field hospitals.
Soldiers talking to ghosts, reliving moments they'd never escape.
The boy's voice rose, sharper now.
"Dad, no. You don't have to—"
A choking sound.
Then silence.
Dana waited, counting her heartbeats.
When the sounds resumed, they were different.
Soft, broken.
The sound of someone crying and trying to hide it.
She should go downstairs.
Check on him.
But she remained frozen in the chair, listening to a fourteen-year-old boy weep for his dead father and whatever sins had died with him.
The crying stopped eventually.
Luca's breathing evened out, slipping back into true sleep.
Dana sat in the dark kitchen, staring at nothing.
Outside, the wind howled through the bare trees.
Inside, the house creaked and settled around them.
She'd saved the boy's life, but she was starting to understand the cost.
Not just food and medical supplies.
Not just the risk of discovery.
She was harboring something broken.
Something that carried its trauma like a second shadow, casting darkness even in sleep.
The smart thing would be to wake him up and send him back into the woods.
Let winter and his father's enemies finish what they'd started.
Instead, Dana pulled a blanket around her shoulders and settled deeper into the chair.
The cellar door remained closed beneath her feet.
The boy slept on, carrying his ghosts.
Dawn was still hours away.