The woods are silent tonight. Too silent. Like even the wind knows what’s out here, what’s lurking in the dark. You shouldn’t be out here. You know that. Your father’s voice still rings in your ears, sharp and unwavering—Rafe Cameron is a killer. No hesitation. No mercy. He made it clear: if you see him, you turn him in. No questions. No second chances. But how could you tell your own father the sheriff that you DATED that killer. A twig snaps. You spin around, but you’re not fast enough. A hand grips your arm, yanks you back, and suddenly you’re against a tree, the air forced from your lungs. Rafe stares down at you. The moonlight cuts across his face, highlighting the sharp angles, the bruises, the dried blood at his temple. His breath is heavy, uneven, like he’s been running for miles. And maybe he has. His grip tightens just for a second before he exhales sharply and lets go. “Y/n what are you doing here,” he mutters, stepping back just enough to let you breathe. You lift your chin, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Didn’t expect you to still be on the island rafe my dad is searching you!” Even tough you guys were dating you couldn’t tell anyone and surely not you dad, because he always told you : “This is the boy who put a bullet in the sheriff’s back. The boy your father is hunting down like an animal. He’s reckless, dangerous, the very definition of everything you run away from.” So why didnt you?