Page 28 of Branded Souls (Ember Hollow Romance #3)

Skye

I woke slowly, surfacing from sleep like I was rising through fog. The first thing I noticed was warmth. The second was the steady rhythm of Fox’s breathing. My forehead was pressed against his bare chest, his arms wrapped tightly around me, his chin resting lightly on top of my head.

He was still asleep. I, on the other hand, was suddenly wide awake.

I zeroed in on the tattoo inked across his chest. The vertical infinity loop—with the triangle tucked inside the lower curve—stared back at me, quiet and haunting. The sight of it sent a flood of emotion crashing into me, stealing the air from my lungs.

I didn’t actively think about the baby. I hadn’t in years. It was too much, too intense. It was easier to compartmentalize it, to push it deep down and never look at it too closely. But Fox… Fox had remembered. He’d carried that memory for both of us.

Gratitude came first. Followed closely by love. Because no matter what had happened between Fox and me, part of me would always love him .

Then the guilt hit. And the grief. The sharp, aching kind that crept in through the quiet moments and wrapped itself around your ribs.

I wasn’t in the business of feeling feelings. Not if I could avoid them. I was good at distractions. At work. At pushing forward. But here, in the stillness of morning, tangled in Fox’s arms, there was no room for avoidance. No noise. Nothing to drown it out.

I had left Fox for so many reasons. But mostly? Because I’d believed he deserved better. He had been willing to give up everything—his family, his future, his home—for me. I couldn’t let him do that. He would’ve chosen me, even if it ruined him.

But now…now I knew he’d mourned the life we could’ve had. The family. The baby. That quiet grief he’d buried under ink and muscle and silence hit me harder than I expected.

He shifted, pulling me from the spiral.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was rough.

My heart gave a traitorous little quiver. I tilted my head back, meeting his sleepy gaze. His hair was a tousled mess. Without the tattoos, I might have believed I’d time-traveled straight back to our teenage years.

“I’m okay,” I whispered.

His answering smile melted something inside me.

“Good,” he murmured, his arms tightening around me. His hand moved leisurely up and down my back, soothing and steady. “You scared me last night.”

I tensed. “Sorry.”

He felt it—my tension—and gradually released me. Our eyes met. Something shifted in his face, like the last wisps of sleep had cleared and reality had roared back. He glanced at the window, where sunlight spilled through the thin curtains. His mouth pressed into a tight line.

He rolled onto his back, and I scooted slightly away.

Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he cursed under his breath. “It’s late.” He ran a hand through his wild hair. “We should get going. Checkout is soon.”

“Right.” I pushed the blankets off and climbed out of bed.

We got ready in silence. Brushing our teeth. Packing our things.

Neither of us mentioned the kiss.

The drive back to Ember Hollow was just as quiet. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be any real damage to Fox’s SUV—only a few scuffs on the bumper that looked like streaks of black paint.

Once we finally got back to the cabin, Fox went straight to the dining table, where his laptop waited. He’d made the space a makeshift workstation since the mysterious call from my father.

“Do you think we should be worried about whoever ran us off the road?” I asked.

His eyes flicked to me before returning to the screen. “I’m not sure. There isn’t really a solid way to figure out who did it, but I’ll try.”

I frowned. “I don’t understand what they were trying to accomplish. If they wanted to hurt us, why didn’t they stop? Why drive away?”

He shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t want to risk being seen on the highway.”

“Maybe,” I echoed.

“Either way, we need to stay vigilant.” He turned his attention back to his keyboard and started to type.

“Do you have the recording of your interview with the Shadow Stalker?” he asked casually .

My heart skipped. The simple reminder of the interview made my throat go tight. My time with the serial murderer had felt like so much more, in many ways.

“I do.” I rummaged through my bag for the recorder. “Why?”

He held out his hand. “I was going to extract the audio.”

I hesitated, clutching the device a little tighter.

“This is my interview,” I said, not sure why I sounded so defensive.

But this was big. It would set our documentary apart from any other out there. It felt like both a blessing and curse.

Also, knowing Fox was going to listen to it made me a little…uncomfortable. Not because I didn’t trust him, but because he wouldn’t react well to what he was going to hear. If I was protective of my work, Fox was even more protective of the people in his life.

The people he loved.

I shook my head. Fox didn’t love me like that. Not anymore. He simply felt some sense of obligation to me. It didn’t matter that we’d kissed last night. Emotions were running high; it was a one-time thing.

He hadn’t even brought it up. He probably never would. It would be like it never happened.

He looked at me again, something shifting in his expression. “I know it’s your interview,” he said, voice gentle. “If you’d like some help cleaning up the audio, I was going to go ahead and do that. But I understand if you want to work with it yourself.”

Of course. The audio would need some tending to. It would be echoey and who knew how clear our voices were through that speaker. Getting it production-ready could take days .

I slowly handed it over. “Okay,” I agreed. “Thank you. Make sure you get copies of the raw audio on the cloud, an external hard drive, and a thumb drive.”

Fox shot me a look. “You’ll need more copies than that.” He rolled his eyes. “Who do you think I am, Adler?"

“Right.” I smothered a smile. He was always pretty particular about making sure he never lost any digital work.

He gave me a sly grin, taking the device without comment.

I stood awkwardly, watching as he got to work. When I noticed him slip into his zone—focused, fingers dancing over the keyboard, completely absorbed—I turned and meandered to my room.

He probably wouldn’t move from that spot for hours.

I collapsed onto the bed. Even though I slept well last night, I still felt drained. Panic attacks always left me wrung out, like my nerves were raw or something.

I laid there, wondering whether I should sleep or start editing footage. I needed to revise the script, figure out how the interview fit into the narrative. Or I could work on setting up more interviews.

But my gaze wandered around the room, and I grimaced at the mess. It had been days since I’d picked anything up. Dirty clothes were thrown on the floor, papers were stacked on the nightstand, and that mirror I’d knocked over, who knows how many nights ago, was still face down on the dresser.

With a sigh, I got up and started half-heartedly tidying. I popped in my earbuds and queued up the latest episode of Splintered True Crime —Emersyn’ s podcast.

It still amazed me that she’d agreed to work on this documentary with me, on top of her own workload. I admired her strength—especially after everything she’d been through.

A chill shuddered through me. I couldn’t ignore the possibility that the reason the Shadow Stalker had agreed to speak with me in the first place was because of my proximity to Emersyn.

One thing was certain: I wouldn’t let him use me. He wouldn’t get anywhere near her if I had anything to do with it.

I was only half paying attention when I finally reached for the mirror. I lifted it slowly, expecting shattered glass to fall…but it didn’t. The mirror was mostly intact, except for the sharp sliver that had cut my hand when it had first fallen.

The relief was short-lived, though. Something odd peeked out from behind the glass.

I leaned in, squinting. There, tucked behind the broken glass, was a black cord. My heart leapt into my throat. My brain made the connection faster than I could process. The black cord was connected to what looked like the very edge of a tiny lens.

Ice flooded my veins. My fingers shook as I yanked on the cord, not caring if I cut myself.

A small, black device popped free.

A camera.