Chapter 51 False Springs

• ZOE
• The road wound through the trees like a soft scar on the mountain’s skin. Ethan drove in silence, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally resting on my bare thigh, stroking it as if to remember that I was still his. Outside, the tall trees whispered with the wind, and the sky had that postcard-blue shade that always seems to hide something more. I looked without really seeing, my head resting against the glass, feeling the warmth of the sun but not letting it touch me completely inside. We had left the city that morning. Ethan said we needed a break, that the cabin was a refuge far from everything. But I knew he had chosen it because it was in the middle of nowhere. No one could find us. Not even memories.
• The cabin was beautiful. One of those that looks taken from a carefully curated postcard by someone wanting to sell the idea of peace. It was located about two hours north of Los Angeles, nestled in the hidden folds of San Bernardino National Park, where the air still smells like pine and the nights fall with a silence unbroken by sirens or city lights. Surrounded by tall, slender trees like motionless guardians, the cabin rose before a still lake that reflected the sky with unsettling fidelity, as if it mimicked every cloud, every shadow, without allowing itself to distort the truth.