The cabin sat at the end of a dirt road flanked by pines, a structure of raw timber and glass that seemed to grow out of the mountainside itself. Nathan had called it a sanctuary. Eva, stepping out of the car into air that tasted of pine resin and cold creek water, called it the edge of the world. No neighbours for miles. No signal. No Lucas, because three days ago she had finally ended it, and the freedom still felt like a limb she hadn't learned to use.

Nathan carried their bags onto the wide front porch while she stood breathing in the silence. He had planned everything. The cabin, the meals, the loose architecture of a weekend he had described only as "a deeper map." She had asked for details. He had given her three words: trust, surrender, and an upgraded safe word. She had chosen "red" for stop, "yellow" for slow down, and "green" for more, please, yes. He had smiled and kissed her forehead and told her she would not need them unless she did, which was exactly the right thing to say.