Ryker cut the engine, and the sudden silence of the forest rushed back to fill the cab.

“Inside,” Ryker said, opening his door.

He carried the children one by one across the damp grass and through the creaking front door.

I followed him, holding the heavy flashlight he handed me.

The cabin was cold and smelled of dust and dried pine needles.

There was a stone fireplace on one wall, a wooden table, and a small cot in the corner.

Ryker pulled the boards off the rear windows just enough to let some air in, then closed the heavy wooden door behind us.

He slid a thick iron bar into place across the frame.

“We stay here until Marco clears the estate,” Ryker said, setting Owen down on the cot.

I immediately wrapped both children in a thick wool blanket I found in a wooden chest.

They huddled together, their small bodies shivering under the heavy fabric.

“I need to contact Marco,” Ryker said, stepping into the small kitchen area.

He pulled a different, older phone from a metal box hidden under the sink.