Chapter 6: Stepping Into the Sun

Hearing the noise, he glances over, face unreadable. Our eyes meet for a split second, and I look away, my cheeks burning. My hands tremble.

I immediately shiver and, in a choked voice, call out, “Savannah!” My voice cracks, but I don’t care.

I need her, now more than ever. My throat aches. Maybe I called out too quickly, because I start coughing hard.

The cough rattles my chest, and I double over, gasping for air. My head spins, and I clutch the fence for support. My eyes water.

Savannah isn’t in the yard. The emptiness feels overwhelming.

I want to run, but my legs won’t move. My knees shake. I want to leave, but it feels like my feet are glued to the ground.

I stare at the grass, willing myself to move. But I can’t—not with Mason watching. I can only sob helplessly.

The tears come, hot and fast. I cover my face with my hands, wishing I could disappear. My shoulders shake.

“Miss.” His voice is soft, almost gentle. I peek through my fingers, surprised. He’s closer than I thought.

I don’t know when, but Mason has broken free of his chains and comes to my side. He moves quietly, his steps barely making a sound.

I flinch as he approaches, but he doesn’t touch me. My heart pounds. These past two days, every time I’ve seen him, he’s either been thrown on the ground or kneeling in the yard.

It’s strange, seeing him upright—tall, imposing. For the first time, I realize how big he is, how much space he takes up. This is the first time I’ve really felt how tall he is.

He towers over me, but there’s no menace in his eyes—just something tired and sad. I force myself to look calm, remembering what Savannah taught me yesterday.

I square my shoulders, trying to stand tall. My heart hammers in my chest, but I refuse to back down. I say loudly,

“Don’t move!” The words come out shaky, but I try to sound firm. I hope he listens.

But my voice is already hoarse from crying. It sounds soft and weak, not intimidating at all. He pauses, tilting his head. I can tell he’s trying not to laugh.

Mason stops, not moving any closer. He listens, his body language open. I let out a shaky breath, relieved. I turn away, coughing, trying to put some distance between us.

My throat burns, and I stumble back, clutching my chest. The world tilts, and I blink, trying to steady myself. But suddenly my legs give out, my mind goes blank, and pain explodes in my head.

The ground rushes up to meet me, and everything goes black. Before I lose consciousness, I feel myself falling into a hard embrace.

Strong arms catch me, holding me tight. There’s a faint scent of aftershave and medicine. I let myself go limp, trusting him—just this once. There’s a faint scent of medicine at my nose.

It’s comforting, somehow. I breathe it in, letting it lull me toward sleep. Mason, orphaned young, forced into jail, grew up in darkness and pain.

His story is one of loss and survival. I wonder if anyone ever held him when he was scared. Maybe that’s why he’s so hard now. Later, he was rescued, changed his name, and rose to power, starting a life of revenge.

He reinvented himself, turning pain into strength. But the scars never really faded. He went against the hero and was eventually killed.

It’s the kind of ending you hear about in stories—the villain meets his match, pays the price. But I can’t help feeling sorry for him. In my dream, I see Mason die, but it seems like he’s holding someone in his arms.

The dream is vivid, the colors too bright. He’s surrounded by shadows, but he’s not alone. I wonder who he’s holding—if it’s me. Surrounded by a thousand knives, his bones scattered after death, no one to mourn him.

It’s a lonely end, one no one deserves. I wake up crying, the ache in my chest real. I wake from the dream, lick my dry lips, and grab Savannah’s hand.

Her hand is warm, grounding me. I squeeze it tight, afraid to let go. I feel unbearably miserable, tears streaming down my face.

The sobs wrack my body, and I can’t stop shaking. Savannah strokes my hair, murmuring soothing words. “Savannah... I don’t want Mason to die.”

The words come out in a rush, desperate and raw. I mean it—I don’t want anyone to die, least of all him. She gives me a few sips of water, wipes away my tears, and soothes me.

Her voice is soft, her touch gentle. She holds me close, like when I was little and had nightmares. “He’s not going to die. No one’s dying.”

She says it with such certainty, I almost believe her. The fear eases, just a little. Only then do I stop crying and hug her tight.

I bury my face in her shoulder, letting her warmth calm me. The world feels a little safer with her here. A soft laugh comes from the side, and I finally notice someone else is there.

The sound is unfamiliar, but not unfriendly. I look up, wiping my eyes. It’s an unfamiliar face—a dignified man in a crisp suit, sitting astride a glossy black horse.

He looks out of place in our muddy yard, but there’s a kindness in his eyes. The horse snorts, stamping its hooves. Seeing me look at him, he greets me with a bright smile.

His smile is wide and genuine, the kind that makes you want to smile back. “Little Lila, long time no see!”

His voice is warm, teasing. I shrink back, unsure how to respond. I don’t know who he is, so I bury myself in Savannah’s arms.

Her arms tighten around me, a silent reassurance. I peek out, curious despite myself. Then I hear her scold, “Darren, stop teasing her.”

Savannah’s tone is playful, but there’s affection there. I relax a little, sensing there’s no danger. Darren, from the Monroe family, is Savannah’s fiancé.

I remember now—he’s the one who always brought cookies to family gatherings, who fixed my bike when I crashed it into the fence. He’s practically family. I still remember years ago, when Savannah got the news, her cheeks flushed with a young woman’s shyness.

She was so happy, giggling behind her hand. It was the first time I saw her act her age, not the fearless leader she always tries to be. Later, she picked up her rifle and joined the army, and this man waited at home for her for years.

He wrote her letters, sent care packages, called every Sunday. Their love is the kind that survives anything. When my siblings weren’t around, it was the Monroe family who looked after me.

They took me in, fed me home-cooked meals, made sure I never felt alone. I owe them more than I can say. I poke my head out from Savannah’s arms and greet him.

My voice is shy, but I manage a smile. “Hi, Darren.” This greeting makes Darren beam, tossing a playful look at Savannah.

He winks, and Savannah rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. The tension in the room eases. She scolds him, half laughing, half crying.

Their banter is familiar, comforting. I watch them, wishing I could be that brave, that sure of myself. That night, an urgent call comes from the governor’s office. My siblings are to head out for service at once.

The phone rings, shrill and insistent. Savannah answers, her face going pale. The house is thrown into chaos—bags packed, uniforms donned, quick hugs exchanged. The war feels closer than ever.

Before leaving, my brother’s girlfriend puts her cat in my arms and reminds me, “If anyone bullies you, let Tater Tot scratch them.”

She presses the tabby into my arms, his fur warm and soft. I nod, clutching him tight. His purr rumbles against my chest, a small comfort. I clutch Tater Tot tightly, summoning my courage.

I bury my face in his fur, breathing in the scent of home. I promise myself I’ll be brave, for my family’s sake. “No one will bully me... If anyone does, I’ll have Mason take care of them.”

The words slip out before I can stop them. My siblings laugh, but there’s pride in their eyes. I feel a little stronger, just for a moment.

From the day I fainted, Mason carried me to the doctor. Breaking free from his chains left him covered in blood, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He was a force of nature, moving through the house with purpose. The doctor stitched me up, but it was Mason’s steady presence that calmed me most. And since I begged Savannah for him, after some discussion, my siblings agreed to let Mason stay by my side to protect me.

They argued, voices raised, but in the end, they listened. Mason became my shadow, always a step behind. I wasn’t sure if I should be grateful or afraid.

Watching the cars and trucks pull away, I still can’t bear to turn away. The engines rumble, headlights slicing through the dawn.

I wave until they’re out of sight, my heart heavy. The house feels emptier than ever. “Miss.”

Mason’s voice is low, almost gentle. I turn, surprised to find him so close. Mason leans close to my ear, then bends down and picks me up.

His arms are strong, steady. I squeak in surprise, but he doesn’t let go. He carries me like I weigh nothing. “We should get you home now.”

His breath is warm against my cheek. I nod, too stunned to argue. I’m still so scared of Mason. I freeze in his arms, not daring to move.

My heart races, but I don’t fight. There’s something safe about the way he holds me, even if I don’t understand it. Only when he puts me on the bed, half-kneeling in front of me to take off my shoes and socks, do I react.

He’s careful, his touch gentle. I pull my feet back, embarrassed. I quickly pull my feet back. My toes curl under the blanket, and I shake my head, cheeks burning.

“You... you’re not allowed to take them off!” The words come out sharper than I mean. He blinks, surprised, then shrugs.

Mason’s face is blank. His large hands catch my feet again, holding tight. “Miss, don’t move.”

His grip is firm, but not painful. I hold my breath, waiting. I instantly go still.

Something in his voice makes it impossible to disobey. I watch, wide-eyed, as he wipes my feet clean and tucks them under the blanket. With red eyes, I watch as Mason wipes my feet clean and tucks them under the blanket.

He’s methodical, almost tender. I don’t know what to say, so I just watch, silent. Before leaving, Savannah reminded me several times to show the Whitaker family’s spirit. I can’t let people push me around without standing up for myself.

Her words echo in my head. I want to be brave, to prove I’m not just the family’s scaredy-cat. I clutch the edge of the blanket, looking at Mason kneeling beside me.

He waits, silent and patient. I gather my courage, determined to do something—anything—to show I’m not afraid. Forcing myself to look calm, I summon all my courage.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. My heart pounds, but I don’t back down. I stick my foot out from under the blanket and step on Mason.

The gesture is small, almost silly, but it feels monumental. My foot presses against his thigh, and I hold my breath, waiting for his reaction. White, delicate foot against dark jeans.

The contrast is stark, almost jarring. He doesn’t move, just looks at me, his eyes unreadable. Mason’s gaze is so intense it’s almost physical.

I feel it, like a weight pressing down on me. I can’t hold it for long. I don’t dare look at him again, burying my head under the blanket.

My cheeks burn, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear. My foot seems to have hit something—hard and rough.

It’s not what I expected. I freeze, uncertain. I freeze, tears squeezing out of my eyes.

The fear wells up again, and I bite my lip, fighting back sobs. Mason actually carries a stick with him!

I imagine all sorts of terrible things—a weapon, maybe. My imagination runs wild. I hurriedly pull my foot back, afraid he’ll hit me. “You—kneel farther away.”

My voice is shaky, but I try to sound firm. He just nods, moving back a few inches. Mason obediently moves back a bit.

He doesn’t argue, just watches me, his eyes softening. I wonder if he’s amused, or just tired. But what I don’t know is, those wolf-like eyes have been watching me all along.

He’s alert, always on guard. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me—fear, weakness, or something else? Mason seems to be holding something in. The corners of his eyes are red.

There’s a tension in his jaw, a sadness I can’t name. I wish I could help, but I don’t know how. In my sleep, I think I hear a few low, muffled breaths beside me.

They’re soft, almost soothing. I curl up tighter, comforted by the presence, even if I’d never admit it. Instinctively, I shrink into the corner.

I pull the blanket over my head, hiding from the world. Tater Tot curls up beside me, his purr a lullaby. People in the house say Mason has found a job in Maple Heights.

There’s talk in the kitchen, whispers in the hallway. He’s become a fixture in the community, whether anyone likes it or not. No wonder I didn’t see him in the yard when I got up today.

The house feels emptier without him lurking in the shadows. I wonder where he goes, what he does. He’s just too noticeable. Even if he does nothing, just standing there, he draws everyone’s attention.

There’s something about him—an energy, a presence. People can’t help but stare, even if they pretend not to. The housekeeper sets out breakfast. I sit at the table, nibbling on a piece of toast.

The kitchen smells like coffee and butter. I pick at my food, lost in thought. The world feels too big, too uncertain. After hesitating a while, I ask,

“What’s Mason doing outside?” My voice is small, but curious. The housekeeper glances at me, a knowing smile on her face.

She shrugs, wiping her hands on her apron. “Why don’t you go check, honey? Might do you some good to get some fresh air.”

When she left, Savannah told them several times to let me go out more, not to stay cooped up inside. Her words ring in my ears. I know she’s right, but it’s hard to leave the safety of the house.

Now that I finally have an excuse, of course they want me to go out. The housekeeper winks, nudging me toward the door. I sigh, knowing there’s no point arguing.

I watch her for a bit. Seeing she really won’t tell me, I sigh and decide to see for myself. I slip on my shoes, grab my sweater, and step outside. The morning air is crisp, the sun just beginning to warm the world.

I am a little curious about what Mason is doing. He’s a mystery, even to me. I wonder if he’s found a way to fit in, or if he’s still an outsider, just like me.

After all, when I begged Savannah to spare his life, she said he couldn’t go anywhere except follow me. I remember her words, the promise she made. I wonder if Mason resents it, being tied to me.

When I see him again, Mason is wearing a gold-trimmed jacket, standing in front of a black SUV. He looks out of place, almost regal. The jacket catches the sunlight, and for a moment, he looks like someone from another world. The SUV gleams, a silent guardian in the driveway. I take a deep breath, gathering my courage, and step forward. Whatever happens next, I have to face it.