Nate
My phone vibrates against the desk.
Daniel.
The email is short.
Professional.
Detached.
Appreciate your work.
I have what I need.
You're no longer required on-site.
I'll take it from here.
I read it twice.
He thinks he's back in control.
He thinks proximity equals power.
My eyes flick to the live feed.
Wren shifts in her sleep, rolling toward the wall, the blanket pulled high beneath her chin.
Peaceful.
Unaware.
Daniel doesn't get to "take it from here."
I type my reply immediately.
Understood.
Short. Clean. Compliant.
Exactly what he expects.
Let him believe I'm leaving.
Let him relax.
I lower the laptop lid halfway—just enough to sell the illusion.
Then I turn to the second screen.
I'm not going anywhere.
The phone vibrates again.
Jackson.
I pick up the phone on the first buzz, not waiting for pleasantries. "Tell me you're calling for a reason."
Jackson's reply is direct, stripped of humour. "I am," he says. "He booked a flight."
A chill settles in my chest at his words. My mind races, calculating the implications.
"Destination?" I ask, keeping my voice steady.
He doesn't elaborate. "You already know."
"Boise." The word hangs in the air.
Jackson confirms, "Yes. Two days from now. One-way."
My jaw clenches. I need more details.
"Car rental?" I press.
"Reserved."
"Accommodation?"
"Nothing yet."
So, he plans to move quickly, not wasting time on arrangements. He thinks he has leverage. He thinks he's in control—because I handed it to him.
My attention shifts back to the monitor. Wren hasn't moved. Two days.
Jackson's voice drops. "She has no idea?"
"No."
He asks, "You leaving?"
"No."
A pause lingers between us.
"You sound different."
I ignore the observation. Instead, I issue instructions. "Track him the moment he lands."
Jackson is quick to agree. "I will."
"And Jackson—"
"Yeah?"
"If he changes flights, I want to know before the plane takes off."
He doesn't hesitate. "You got it."
"You know what I think?"
"I didn't ask."
"Yeah, but I'm saying it anyway."
I wait.
"You're sitting out there watching everything happen through a screen while Daniel's buying plane tickets."
My eyes flick to the monitor again. Wren shifts slightly under the blanket.
Jackson continues.
"If you're serious about protecting her, maybe it's time she actually knows you exist."
I don't answer immediately.
"What, you want me to walk up to her door and introduce myself?" I say finally.
"No," Jackson replies. "That would be insane."
A beat passes.
"But you could start smaller."
My fingers drum once against the desk.
"How."
"She goes to that diner every morning with Tiffany, right?"
I don't like how quickly he says it.
"You've been paying attention," I say.
"You told me the routine, wise guy."
He pauses.
"Go get breakfast."
Silence stretches between us.
"Sit a few tables away. Let her notice you."
"That's a terrible idea."
"Maybe," Jackson says. "But it's better than waiting until Daniel shows up and introducing yourself in the middle of a crisis."
I look back at the live feed.
Wren is still asleep.
Peaceful.
Unaware.
Jackson's voice cuts through my thoughts.
"You can't protect someone forever if you're a ghost."
Another pause.
"Think about it."
The line goes dead, leaving me alone with the weight of what's coming.
I lean back in the chair, eyes still fixed on the screen.
Two days.
That's how long Daniel thinks he has before he walks back into her life.
He doesn't know I'm still here.
He doesn't know I'm the one standing between them now.
Possession is an ugly word.
But so is protection.
Right now, I'm not sure there's a difference.
I shut the main lights off in the cabin and watch the dark stretch between the trees toward her house.
Daniel thinks he's coming back to collect what belongs to him.
My mouth tilts slightly.
Good.
I'll be waiting.
Morning comes quietly.
The kind of cold Idaho morning where the air bites before the sun has a chance to warm it.
I wake before my alarm.
Habit.
The cabin is still dark as I swing my legs off the bed and drag a hand through my hair.
The first thing I do is check the monitor.
Wren's bedroom fills the screen.
She's still asleep, tangled in the blankets, one arm stretched across the empty side of the bed like she claimed the whole thing sometime during the night.
A small smile pulls at the corner of my mouth before I can stop it.
My mind flashes back to last night. The way she came undone. The sounds she made when she finally let go.
I shake my head sharply.
"Fucking hell, Nate. Pull yourself together."
I step into the shower, letting the hot water clear the last remnants of sleep from my head.
Jackson's words circle somewhere in the back of my mind.
You can't protect someone forever if you're a ghost.
Maybe he's right.
Ten minutes later, I'm back at the desk, coffee in hand, watching the screen again.
Wren is awake now, moving around the kitchen in an oversized sweater, tiny shorts that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, and thick socks.
She stretches.
My eyes freeze for a second too long.
The view is… distracting.
I exhale slowly and shake my head.
"Get a hold of yourself," I mutter. "You're not a teenager."
She opens the fridge.
Stares inside.
Closes it and opens it again, as if she expected food to magically appear the second time.
Wren reaches for her phone.
I quickly unmute the audio filter and turn up the volume.
Tiffany's voice bursts through the speakers.
"Pancakes. Now. I need pancakes."
"Good morning to you, too." Wren laughs. "You know, I think you have a problem. I might have to check you into rehab if you don't calm down."
"Listen," Tiffany says dramatically, "those pancakes are my only source of happiness right now. Do not take them away from me."
Wren's laugh fills the kitchen and echoes through the speakers.
Without meaning to, I smile.
"Okay," Wren says. "What time are you thinking? Do I have time to shower?"
"Yes. If you're quick, meet me in our booth at ten."
A pause.
"I'll see you soon. Order me a cappuccino. I feel fancy today."
"Done," Tiffany says, and the line clicks dead.
I check the time.
9:14 a.m.
My gaze shifts toward the window.
Then back to the screen.
Jackson's voice echoes in my head.
Get breakfast.
I sigh.
"Fuck it."
Now that the idea's in my head, there's no getting rid of it.
And Jackson knew exactly what he was doing.
The bell above the diner door jingles as I step inside.
Warm air hits me immediately, thick with the smell of coffee, syrup, and bacon grease.
My eyes adjust quickly, scanning the room the way they always do.
Two truckers in a corner booth.
A couple is arguing quietly over a newspaper.
Three stools are open at the counter.
Then I see her.
Wren sits in her usual booth near the window, sunlight spilling across the table in front of her. Tiffany is mid-story, hands moving dramatically as she talks.
Wren isn't listening.
She's stirring her coffee slowly, her gaze drifting across the diner—
—and landing directly on me.
For a moment, the noise of the room fades into the background.
Our eyes lock.
There's a flicker of recognition in her expression, like she's trying to place something just out of reach.
I let the corner of my mouth lift in the smallest smile. Nothing obvious. Just enough for her to know it's meant for her.
Colour rises instantly in her cheeks.
She looks down at her coffee so quickly that it almost makes me laugh.
I walk past their booth, feeling her glance follow me for half a second before she forces her attention back to Tiffany.
A chuckle slips out under my breath.
Cute.
The booth across the diner is empty.
Perfect view.
I slide into the seat, my back to the wall, giving myself a clear line of sight to Wren without having to turn my head.
The waitress appears almost immediately.
"Well, good morning, handsome," she says brightly. "Can I get you some coffee?"
I look up and give her an easy smile.
"Yeah. That'd be great."
She grabs the pot from the nearby counter and fills a mug in front of me.
"Haven't seen you around here before," she says casually.
Not a question.
An observation.
I expected that.
Small towns notice new faces.
"I'm passing through," I say, keeping my tone relaxed. "Doing some contract work up near Stanley. Figured I'd stop in for breakfast."
She nods like that explains everything.
"Well, you picked the right place. Best pancakes in Idaho."
My gaze flicks briefly toward Wren's booth.
"I've heard."
She pulls out her notepad.
"What can I get you?"
"Pancakes," I say. "Side of scrambled eggs and bacon."
"Coming right up."
She tops up my coffee before heading back toward the kitchen.
I wrap my hands around the mug, pretending to focus on the steam rising from the cup.
Across the diner, Wren laughs at something Tiffany says.
And for the first time since I arrived in this town…
I'm the one being watched.