Chapter 4 - Lilac

The wind slammed into me as soon as I stepped outside, whipping snow against my face with icy force. I hunched deeper into my coat, gripping the flashlight tight as I trudged down the path toward the distant wreck. Each step sank deep into fresh drifts, the snow crunching stubbornly beneath my boots.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that my night had taken a surreal turn.

Tending to the woman’s injuries had felt awkwardly intimate, cleaning scrapes, bandaging bruised ribs, and covering her gently with blankets while she’d been unconscious. It wasn’t until she’d woken up that I’d finally put the pieces together, recognizing her vividly colored hair and those striking features. She was familiar—not personally, but from photographs splashed across the web, standing beside Stacey Sherbourn at elegant events. She was Makayla Hopkins, daughter of a New York senator, tech genius—and, according to the press, Stacey’s devoted long-term girlfriend.

My jaw clenched tightly against the bitter wind.

Stacey’s girlfriend. Of all the people to crash practically on my doorstep, why her? I knew Stacey. I knew how seamlessly she could manipulate perceptions. She was polished and ruthless, the kind who spoke warmly of community while signing away acres of protected wilderness to the highest bidder. What kind of woman could stomach being at her side for so long?

And yet, Makayla didn’t fit the image I’d conjured in my head. Vulnerable, hurting, and protective of a tiny, ridiculously fluffy puppy. It was difficult to reconcile that image with Stacey’s polished cruelty.

I sighed, squinting through the blinding snowfall toward the dark outline of the wrecked sedan. Makayla’s urgency about the flash drive gnawed at me. She’d tried to hide it, but desperation flashed unmistakably in her eyes. It couldn’t be ordinary files, not with how badly she seemed to need it.

Reaching the car, I brushed snow from the door and tugged hard. The metal groaned in protest before finally giving way. My flashlight beam darted through the interior, revealing shattered glass and scattered items—lip balm, keys, and a half-empty water bottle.

I pushed aside a crumpled map, searching carefully around the console as my fingers brushed cold plastic. There—a small, silver flash drive tucked in the crevice beside the seat. Relief flooded me as I pocketed it, curiosity prickling at the back of my mind.

What secrets could Makayla possibly have that she’d risk traveling through a blizzard to protect them?

Quickly, I gathered the rest of her belongings: a backpack, a thick coat tossed hastily across the back seat, and a small overnight bag wedged behind the driver’s seat. Each item felt personal, making me suddenly aware that I was prying into a life I hadn’t been invited into.

As I zipped the bags closed, unease settled heavily in my chest. I didn’t know Makayla, and I didn’t trust her. How could I? And yet, in those quiet moments tending her wounds, something had shifted. She wasn’t just a stranger who crashed near my cabin. She was tangled up in Stacey’s dangerous web. And now, so was I. In some ways, I’m always tangled up in Stacey’s web. She may not acknowledge we’re sisters, but I can’t escape her. She’s got too much influence over what I care about, the planet, to ignore her. 

The wind howled fiercely around me as I retraced my steps back to the cabin, Makayla’s belongings heavy in my hands. Snowflakes stuck to my eyelashes, blurring my vision, and each step through the knee-deep snow felt like fighting quicksand. Yet, despite the brutal storm, the weight of Makayla’s secrets felt heavier and more unsettling.

As my cabin finally appeared through the swirling white, soft lantern light spilling onto the snow-covered porch, relief flooded my limbs. My shoulders ached beneath the bags, and a deep chill had seeped into my bones. The comforting glow promised warmth, shelter, and safety. But with Makayla inside, I wasn’t sure that was entirely true anymore.

A blur of golden-brown fluff launched at my boots when I pushed open the door. Pockets yipped, tiny paws scrambling against my legs, bouncing energetically despite the late hour. Pockets was too adorable for words. I only knew his name because of his collar. ‘Pockets Hopkins – Demi-Dog’. I wasn’t sure what the demi-dog part was all about. Was it a jab at his size? Or was I missing some inside joke? It was probably both. 

“Whoa, easy!” I said softly, laughing despite myself as I stepped inside and shut the storm out behind me. “You’re supposed to be resting too, you know.”

He ignored my mild scolding, ears flopping with excitement as he sniffed at the bags, tail wagging so furiously that his entire corgi-sized body wriggled. It was almost impossible not to smile at him. How could such a sweet pup like him be owned by someone who’d date my evil sister? I couldn’t even begin to imagine Stacey around an animal. All animals hate her. They know evil. I cocked my head at him for a moment and wondered if he knew my sister was evil like every other animal I’d ever seen in the same room as her.

“Let’s get these to your human, okay?” I suggested adjusting my grip on Makayla’s things.

Pockets bounced ahead, glancing over his shoulder as if impatiently guiding me to the bedroom. My breath caught slightly, nerves twisting in my stomach at the thought of confronting Makayla again. I still wasn’t sure exactly how I felt about having her here, what exactly it meant that Stacey’s girlfriend had literally crashed into my life.

When I stepped into the room, I paused. Makayla had fallen asleep again. She lay curled beneath the blankets, breathing softly, her vibrant hair spilling across the pillow like a colorful painting. Makayla looked so much younger and softer without the hard edge of suspicion in her eyes. She was pretty. I shouldn’t think that, of course. Beauty is often skin deep. Look at my sister. If Makayla could be with my sister for years, there must be a reason. Like there was evil in Makayla, too. I didn’t want to judge based on her dating my sister or her father being a politician. But at some point, the company you keep reflects on you.

Pockets jumped onto the bed, nuzzling close to her side, curling up protectively beside her. Something about the quiet, vulnerable image softened the edge of suspicion I’d been holding onto. Pockets loved his owner. So maybe there is good in her.

Sighing, I placed her belongings near the bedside table, careful not to disturb her rest. My hand slipped into my pocket, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the flash drive. I hesitated, glancing again at Makayla’s sleeping form. The urgency in her voice earlier made it clear how important this small device was—but important to who and why?

The questions lingered uncomfortably, but for now, I gently set the flash drive beside her phone on the table, withdrawing quickly as though burned by its secrets. I had considered plugging it into my laptop to see what she was hiding, but that felt wrong. I wasn’t the kind of person who would act with deceit. 

Quietly retreating to the doorway, I paused, watching Makayla and Pockets curled together as they’d always belonged there. I didn’t know how to feel about that—about them here, invading my solitude. About Makayla herself, who was both a mystery and a threat to everything I believed in.

Shaking off my unease, I closed the door, leaving them to rest. Whatever answers I needed would have to wait until morning. Until then, I’d have to trust that bringing Makyla here wasn’t a huge mistake. While Makayla and Pockets rested, I milled about the cabin’s main room. I tried to find quiet activities, and well, nothing more silent than drawing.

I sat curled up on the worn couch, pencil gliding over paper again, sketching quietly in the dim glow of the firelight. My fingers moved automatically, tracing familiar lines and patterns, the steady rhythm soothing my nerves. I needed something—anything—to distract me from the storm outside and the stranger asleep in my bed.

Makayla Hopkins.

Just thinking about her name felt strangely intimate and uncomfortable. My stomach tightened as I shaded the hem of a flowing gown, my hand pausing when a creak from the bedroom drew my attention. I waited, heart quickening, but no other sound came. I exhaled slowly, relaxing slightly. So, she wasn’t yet awake, then. Good.

The wind had softened slightly, still battering the cabin, but with less urgency. The fire crackled quietly, warmth radiating throughout the room as shadows danced softly against the wood-paneled walls. My pencil moved again, tracing delicate lines as I tried to push away the intrusive thoughts of what I’d found—the secrets Makayla so desperately seemed to protect.

But forgetting the flash drive I’d placed beside her was impossible. The thing felt radioactive, pulsing with unseen trouble. What could be on it? Why was she so worried about it? Why had she been driving in this storm? Then, a thought hit me. 

Stacey.

Stacey was spotted in Aspen earlier this week. Was Makayla braving this weather to see Stacey? Could the flash drive have something incriminating about Stacey? Could it have something I could use against my sister? Or maybe it was some romantic plans, and Makayla was driving to surprise my sister with a romantic winter proposal. They’ve been together long enough. I’ve seen enough gossip pages pondering whether the pair would plunge into marriage. I don’t talk to my mother often; I’m very low in contact, so we only speak on holidays, and I know my mother is waiting when they get married.

The bedroom door opened softly, the hinges creaking in the quiet.

I glanced up slowly. Makayla stood there, clutching her side, her movements cautious as she steadied herself against the doorframe. Her vibrant rainbow hair was tousled from sleep, its colors dulled by the shadows, yet her gaze remained sharp and alert.

“Hey,” she said, her voice rough around the edges yet tinged with a newfound strength. Her eyes darted around the room, scanning for hidden threats as if anticipating danger might lurk in every shadow.

“Hey,” I echoed cautiously, setting aside my sketchpad, its blank pages now an afterthought. “You feeling any better?”

She exhaled slowly, the breath escaping like a gentle wind, while her hand pressed gingerly against her ribs as she maneuvered to sit carefully in the nearest chair. “I’ve had better days,” she admitted, her tone carrying the weight of unshed burdens.

“You had a rough night,” I offered, studying her intently. “I brought your things in from your car. The drive you wanted is on the bedside table.”

Her eyes widened slightly, a spark of relief appearing before she masked it with composure. “Thank you,” she said, gripping the chair’s edge, holding back from rushing to retrieve it.

“You know, people usually wait for the storm to pass before driving up a mountain,” I commented, trying to lighten the mood. “You were lucky I saw your headlights cutting through the blizzard.”

She winced at the memory, a brief vulnerability showing before she closed off again. “Trust me, driving through a blizzard wasn’t part of the plan,” she replied, her tone firm but hinting at the chaos she had faced.

“Yeah,” I responded, nodding slowly, trying to process the weight of her ordeal.

Pockets bounded out of the bedroom then, his little body bouncing with joy as he leaped onto Makayla’s lap, wiggling in delight. She scratched behind his ears absently, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly at the familiar warmth of his presence—her tiny protector.

Clearing my throat softly, curiosity blossomed within me, overwhelming my caution. “You came all this way for some files?” 

Makayla hesitated, her gaze piercing and unwavering as it locked onto mine. An intense mixture of fear, defiance, and vulnerability danced in her bright eyes, a silent storm brewing beneath the surface.

“Sometimes files are more than just data,” she finally said, her voice measured and composed, carefully stripping away any hint of emotion. “Sometimes they’re the difference between right and wrong.”

The intensity of her expression startled me, sending a shiver down my spine. Whatever she was concealing was far larger than mere personal matters, deeper than simple embarrassment or pride. It was a secret, a mission that had drawn her straight to my doorstep like a moth to a flame.