In the arms of no one (Completed)

Chapter 7.

Vallon's POV

The twenty-minute drive to my aunty's house feels like it takes a damn century.

Every second ticks by in slow motion — the kind of slow that makes you question whether time has died and left you stranded in some alternate purgatory where jet lag and emotional exhaustion are gods.

My whole body tingles unpleasantly, like my nerves are screaming at me in Morse code. My eyes burn, my vision keeps fuzzing in and out, and my head feels like it's been stuffed with industrial-grade insulation. Basically, I feel like I've been on a three-day bender, minus the fun part.

Trust me — I've been there. And honestly? The aftermath of that particular shitstorm was easier to survive than whatever the hell this is.

Note to self: next time I book an international flight, it's going to have at least one layover long enough for me to sleep in a hotel, take an actual shower, and maybe stage a small existential crisis before flying again.

The SUV slows to a stop, jerking me from my mental rant. The sound of the doors opening and closing hits before I even register where we are. My aunty's voice drifts through the cold air, calm but brisk, and I blink out the window like I'm seeing daylight for the first time.

The house.

It's big. Like we-get-it-you-have-money big. All modern lines and glass, with a gravel driveway that stretches forever before ending in a clean sweep of tarmac. The walls are a pale, sandy tan, and the double-door entrance looks like it's expecting a royal procession.

And yet... it's the middle of nowhere.

No fences. No neighbors. Just open meadow-like lawns fading into the edge of a dense forest that looks like it swallows light for breakfast.

Back home, you'd never find a house like this. Security's tight. Fences high. Cameras watching your every move. Here, though? It's like they're daring someone to break in.

I lean forward, pressing my face to the window. The place looks beautiful — sure — but it also screams perfect setting for a murder documentary.

I can already see the headlines:
"Local Girl Mauled in the Woods — Family Still in Shock."
Or maybe,
"Axe Murderer Targets Isolated Mansion — Victim Never Saw It Coming."

Yeah. That tracks.

I shiver.

Because of course, my luck would lead me here — in the middle of the goddamn woods where no one would hear me scream.

A throat clears, snapping me out of my spiraling imagination. Thank God. I don't need to be alone with my thoughts any longer; they've already been terrible company the whole trip.

When I look up, Aunty Liz — that's what I've decided to call her, since "Elizabeth" feels too formal and "Aunty" on its own makes me sound five — and Storm are standing by the walkway, waiting with my luggage. Both are looking at me expectantly.

I unbuckle my seatbelt, about to hop out, when another throat clears from behind me.

I freeze.

Tiernan.

Of course.

He's still sitting there like some quiet storm — all composed and unreadable, except for that subtle undercurrent of... something.

"Your family's planned a kind of 'welcome to the country' thing," he says, his voice deep, calm, with that faint edge of amusement that makes me want to punch something. "I figured I should tell you before you get ambushed. Just wanted to check — you think you can handle it? Or do you want to skip it?"