The echoes of Woodsman's heavy, rhythmic tread finally faded into the distance, leaving a silence so heavy it felt like it was pressing the oxygen out of the room. For a long, suffocating minute, the only sound in the cottage was the dying hiss of the hearth and Charlene's ragged, whistling gasps for air.
Inside the wardrobe, Madeline remained paralyzed. She was pressed so hard against the rough cedar planks that the grain dug into her spine. Her hand was clamped over her mouth with such feral intensity that her own fingernails had punctured the skin of her knuckles, drawing beads of copper-tasting blood. Her heart wasn't just beating; it was a frantic, trapped animal thumping against the cage of her ribs, threatening to fracture bone.
Through the narrow slit in the warped wood, she watched the doorway where the monster had just stood. The cold night air swirled in, smelling of damp earth and the lingering, oily ghost of his cologne.
Finally, the floorboards groaned.
"Maddy," Charlene choked out. The word was a fractured rasp, barely audible. "He's… he's gone."
Madeline didn't just move; she erupted from the wardrobe. Her stiff, cramped limbs tangled in the heavy wool dresses, and she spilled out onto the floor, crawling on her hands and knees across the cold grit until she reached Charlene's side.
"Char, oh gods, your neck," Madeline sobbed. Her hands shook so violently she could barely reach out.
The firelight flickered, illuminating the damage. The bruises on Charlene's throat were already deepening into a sickly, mottled purple—a perfect, hideous brand of Woodsman's rage etched into her friend's pale skin. It was a roadmap of where his fingers had tried to crush the life out of her.
"I shouldn't have come here," Madeline wailed, the guilt rising in her throat like bile. "I've brought the devil to your door, Char. Look what he did to you. I have to go—I have to turn myself in before he comes back and finishes it."
"No!" Charlene's hand shot out, grabbing Madeline's wrists. Her grip was surprisingly fierce, born of a desperate, protective adrenaline. "Didn't you hear him, Maddy? The debt is void. He doesn't want the silver anymore. He wants to break you. A man like that… he isn't looking for a servant. He's looking for a victim. If you go back now, you aren't settling a debt. You're walking into a grave."
Madeline stood up, her mind spinning in a thousand terrifying directions. She began to pace the tiny, ruined room, her bare feet stepping over the shards of broken pottery Woodsman's men had left behind.
"I can't wait until the sun sets tomorrow," Madeline whispered, her eyes wild. "Take me to my grandmother, Char. Now. I need to see her. I need to know she's breathing, that she's behind a locked door where he can't reach her."
Charlene struggled to her feet, leaning heavily against the soot-stained stones of the chimney. She winced with every swallow. "I will take you in the morning, Maddy. I promise. But look at the moon—it's only midnight. His men are out there right now, prowling the alleys like wolves. How are you going to walk through the village? Your veil and that cloak… they aren't a disguise anymore. They're a target."
The cold reality of it hit Madeline like a physical blow. Charlene was right. Woodsman's men weren't just looking for a girl; they were looking for her and the village was too small to stay hidden for long.
"But what if he finds her first?" Madeline's voice rose, bordering on hysteria. She thought of Maria, frail and gasping, tucked away in some hidden corner. "If he found me here, he can find her. You heard him—he called her by name. He's using her as the bait for the trap because he knows she is my weakness."
"He won't," Charlene insisted, moving toward her and catching her by the shoulders. She forced Madeline to stop pacing. "I moved her to a place he would never think to look. A place even the village gossips don't frequent. She's safe, Maddy. You have to believe me. She's like a mother to me, too. I wouldn't leave her unguarded."
Madeline looked into her friend's eyes—the same eyes that had just stared down a murderer—and felt a wave of profound, soul-aching remorse. She reached up, her thumb hovering just inches from the dark bruises on Charlene's throat.
"I am so sorry for involving you in this nightmare, Char. You were hurt and almost died because of me."
"This?" Charlene managed a small, pained shadow of a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. She touched the marks on her neck, her voice dropping to a low, fierce hum. "This is nothing. I would endure a thousand Woodsmen for you. Now, sit. We have six hours until the sun dares to show its face. We need to figure out how to get you across town without the world seeing a ghost."
Madeline sat, but she didn't relax. She watched the door, the shattered hinges a constant reminder that the walls were no longer thick enough to keep the monsters out. Somewhere in the dark, her grandmother was waiting—and somewhere else, the man with the emerald eyes was a memory she wasn't sure was a hallucination or a hope.