Page 10 of Collateral Damage
Calm people think that way. Patient ones.
I lean back in the chair and rub at the base of my neck, already knowing sleep isn’t happening tonight.
I packed my ESV travel Bible, so I reach for it and scan until I find what I need.
I trace my finger over the text, reading aloud like I always do when I need the words to clear away the fog and the doubt.
“Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle; He is my steadfast love and my fortress, my stronghold and my deliverer, my shield and He in whom I take refuge, who subdues peoples under me.”
I close the book and exhale slowly.
Tomorrow, we go back to Ava’s home.
It's time to see just how good this guy really is.
Ava
Morning creeps in through the thin, gray curtains far too slowly. I wake the way I’ve been waking for months now—instantly on edge, feeling as though something heavy and invisible is crushing my chest.
Anxiety.
It’s a constant, low-level hum, a pervasive fear of what might be waiting for me when I step outside. What Reagan will have done next. My muscles ache from tension, and what little sleep I achieved was fraught with thoughts of my mother, and the impossible task of trying to carry on with my normal routine while Silas is here, effectively turning my life into a strategic maneuver.
I lie in the lumpy, unfamiliar bed for a while, taking slow, rhythmic breaths, trying to force myself to think logically and not out of fear or raw emotion.
Silas is competent, capable, and trustworthy.
There’s a very good chance that just his presence will be enough to deter Reagan.
As I finally pull myself out from under the covers, the cold air of the room bites into my skin, making the hair on my arms rise. When I peek out the window, fresh, thick snow covers everything in the parking lot. My car, the two pickups at the far end, and the dumpster near the stairwell are all blanketed in white. No traffic is moving, no one is up and about yet, and the motel looks even more depressing in the unforgiving daylight.
I close my eyes, exhale, and walk across the threadbare carpet to the bathroom. I shower and dress quickly, leaving my phone within reach—out of habit, out of necessity.
My thoughts stack up fast, crowding each other, competing for space until I force them into a semblance of order. Denver was supposed to buy me space. Distance. Time to breathe. A conference badge and a hotel room full of strangers were supposed to be proof that he wasn’t stopping my life from continuing, that he hadn't won.
Instead, he waited.
A light knock at the door adjoining my room to Silas’s makes my heart rate jump along with my ever-fraying nerves.
Breathe, Ava.
I twist the lock and tentatively open the door a crack, my entire body heaving a silent, mental sigh of relief when I find Silas standing there, fully dressed and drinking a steaming cup, silently appraising me.
In the early, filtered light, he looks different somehow. Softer. Less like the rigid machine he’s been since we arrived, and more like a man.
His head tilts, his eyes narrowing in a slight squint as his fingers tighten around the mug. “Morning.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly running dry. “Morning.”
He shifts his weight, almost as if he’s unsure of what to say, or perhaps just uncertain of how much space to occupy. “Are you ready to go back to your house to pick up a few things?”
My head moves involuntarily, a sharp, sudden motion. “A few things?”
He nods. “You can’t stay there alone until he’s caught.”
It’s nothing the police haven’t already told me, but hearing him confirm it somehow carries significantly more authority. It sounds like a directive, not a suggestion.
“I can’t hide either,” I argue, though my voice lacks conviction.
