“No,” Robert said sharply. “The cabin is their ground. They’ll be waiting if suspicion rises. We head down the mountain, toward the highway. Someone will stop for us.”

Every step was agony, but we limped forward. My mind spun with images of Daniel’s cold eyes, Emily’s sharp command. I wanted to scream, to collapse, but I knew Robert was right: if they realized we were alive, they’d finish the job.

As dusk fell, headlights appeared in the distance. I waved frantically, and a pickup truck slowed to a stop. The driver, a middle-aged man in a flannel shirt, jumped out, shock etched on his face.

“Jesus Christ, what happened to you?”

“We fell,” Robert said hoarsely. “Please, take us to the hospital.”

In the sterile glow of the emergency room hours later, as nurses stitched wounds and doctors muttered over X-rays, I made a silent vow.

Daniel and Emily thought they had ended us. But they had underestimated the strength of two broken bodies fueled by betrayal and love.

As Robert drifted into a medicated sleep, I sat awake, staring at the ceiling.

They wanted us gone. They wanted revenge. But the truth was out now, and one day soon, they would have to face the cost of their choices.