Chapter 32. Reason of A Sick Man

He crouched low in the mud, pressing his shoulder to the rough bark of an oak tree, chest heaving like a hunted animal’s as the wind tore through the trees around him, spitting sleet through the branches as if the woods themselves wanted him gone.

He stared through the dark tangle of branches at the glowing house below him until its warm lights blurred in his vision.

His Rosie was still in there.

His cheek throbbed where she had slashed him, and his hand rose, feeling the crusted blood on it. He winced as the injury on his arm rubbed against his jacket, where her little hand had stabbed the blade into, like she wanted him dead.

But none of it could compare to the pain in his heart.

She had hurt him, and he couldn't understand why.

She shouldn’t have fought him off like that.... shouldn’t have looked at him with those wide, terrified eyes like he was a monster.

He was the one saving her. He had risked everything to come for her, and