Page 48 of Web of Lies

Noah pours himself a cup, leans back against a tree trunk, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He taps it until a cigarette pops out, then puts it between his lips and lights it with a quick flick of his lighter before taking a long drag.

The silence between us no longer feels awkward.

It's quiet, but not as uncomfortable. At work, people painted him as cold, ruthless, and dangerous.

Maybe that's all true. Maybe he's done awful things—the same kind of awful things Kyle has done.

But being out here in the woods with him alone isn't as scary as I expected.

I'm starting to understand what Evelyn meant when she said he isn't scary.

He's not cold or cruel; he's just reserved.

Controlled. And oddly enough, his quiet presence is calming.

"Ah, the deer are coming," Noah says. My head whips toward the clearing where a small herd of deer steps out of the tree line and moves through the tall grass, searching for the perfect patch to graze.

"Which one should I choose?" I whisper and look back at Noah while he prepares the rifle with a few clicks. Then, he puts his hands on my shoulders and gently guides me toward it.

"Pick one and I'll tell you if it's a good choice and explain why." He then reaches for his binoculars.

"Okay." I nod, press my cheek to the cold stock, and peer through the scope.

My focus shifts from one deer to another, observing how they move and interact.

Last night I spent two hours glued to my phone, diving down rabbit holes of hunting forums and videos, hoping they would prepare me.

But this is nothing like staring at videos or scrolling through stories.

"I'm skipping the ones with fawns nearby and the young ones," I murmur, forcing myself to sound confident. My heart hammers in my chest, and my palms are slick with nervous sweat as I grip the cold steel of the rifle.

"Good," Noah says. "Those are off limits. We don't kill nursing does or yearlings."

"What about the bucks?"

"Skip them. Go for a mature doe without a fawn."

"Okay." My breathing slows as I scan the herd again, more carefully, focusing on finding the right one. Near a rotten, moss-covered tree trunk, I spot one grazing peacefully. It is standing apart from the others, looking mature with no fawn in sight. "What about the one near the rotten tree trunk?"

Noah hums thoughtfully and takes a moment to study it. "That one looks good. Go for it."

I take a deep breath and try to keep my hands steady as anxiety swells in my chest, my heart pounding against my ribs.

"Shoot," Noah says sharply and impatiently, his voice cutting like a whip.

But I freeze, my palms slick as I fumble with the grip.

The scope wavers, swaying over the deer's chest, refusing to stay steady like it's mocking me.

"Riley, come on. It's not that hard." His tone is cold, like he's already losing faith in me.

I grit my teeth as irritation crawls beneath my skin and panic sweeps over me.

"Just line up the shot and pull the trigger. "

"Shut up," I whisper to myself, barely audible, my voice trembling as if I'm begging for an out.

"Jesus, Riley." Noah scoffs, his tone full of disappointment. "Are you seriously freezing up now? Just do it." His words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me. "Shoot. Now. Or it will get away, and all of this was for nothing."

Frustration boils beneath the dread of his judgment. My chest tightens, but I push past the trembling of my hands and the panic gripping my lungs. I take a breath, then pull the trigger.

The shot tears through the forest like a lightning strike.

The sound is so deafening that it masks everything else.

The kickback from the rifle slams into my shoulder, sending a violent shockwave through my muscles.

I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath.

Every second drags on, heavy and overwhelming, as I wait for Noah's reaction.

"You missed," he says with a heavy sigh.

I open my eyes, and a mixture of relief and disappointment floods my senses, drowning out the irritation. I pull away from the rifle and look back up at him with a glare. "Why the hell did you do that? Why push me like that?"

"This is part of it."

"You're cruel," I say in a barely audible whisper.

"No," Noah replies, lowering his binoculars.

"I'm teaching you. Like Kyle asked me to.

" There's no guilt in his expression, only stone-cold honesty.

"Do you think someone's going to wait until you're calm, ready, and perfectly lined up?

No, you'll have seconds—maybe less. You'll be scared, your hands will shake, and your mind will scream at you to stop. That's reality."

My lips press into a thin line at his explanation. "You pressured me on purpose."

"I did." He shrugs. "If you can't pull the trigger under pressure, you're already dead. The truth is, targets don't always die instantly, so you have to shoot again. Every additional second gives them time to find a way to beat you."

"Where do I have to shoot to make it an instant kill?"

"Head. Neck. Heart." He answers without hesitation.

"That doesn't sound easy."

"It's not," he says, meeting my gaze. "Despite my history of long-range kills, I've only made perfect shots on human targets a handful of times."

"I expected you to always hit," I say, earning an amused snort in response.

"I'm fast, and that makes up for the first shot not being fatal.

" His attention shifts from me to the clearing.

"Hold on and scoot over." He hands me the binoculars, and I scoot away from the rifle as instructed.

He settles down beside me, rests his chin against the stock, and peeks through the scope.

I lift the binoculars to my eyes and turn my attention back to the clearing, where the deer are creeping back into the tall grass.

"The deer are back," I say, and Noah hums.

"Yes, I guess we're lucky today." His tone is low, almost a murmur, and he sounds absent, like he is concentrating. "I'm going to shoot one, and you're going to watch."

"Okay," I say, searching for the deer I had picked out earlier. "It's by the small bush with yellow flowers."

"Got it," Noah says. But he hesitates until the deer lifts its head to watch its surroundings.

"Now," Noah announces, pulling the trigger.

The explosion vibrates through the air, carrying on through the forest. Crows caw in the distance, and the deer in the clearing bolt, except for the one he aimed for.

After attempting to leap forward, it collapses to the ground.

Its legs thrash in the air for a moment before it lies still, all signs of motion vanishing.

A knot forms in my throat as I watch the deer lose its final battle right before my very eyes.

I lower the binoculars and catch Noah looking at me as he kneels beside me and rummages through his backpack.

"I'm going to field dress the deer so I can take it to the processor.

" He places a hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to watch that part.

I doubt you want to get serious about hunting.

" I nod, and he stands up, grabs his backpack, jumps over the edge of the blind, and heads toward where the deer collapsed.

Alone again, I glance at the rifle, then back at Noah moving through the grass. A slow exhale pulls the air from my lungs as I lower myself back onto the tarp. The cool material presses against my back while I stare up at the sky. Sunlight filters through the thick treetops and caresses my skin.

Instead of following Noah, Whiskey wanders over and lies down next to me, resting his heavy head on my chest. His weight is comforting; his warmth soothing. I loop an arm around him and run my fingers through his thick fur, losing myself in the rhythm.

The initial shock is fading, leaving something strange in its place. I should feel something with death this close, but I don't. I don't feel fear or disgust. Just... stillness. It's as if my emotions have been placed behind glass, and I'm watching them from the other side, unable to reach them.