I hadn't wanted to go back to my house—not after everything. The memories of Loretta, the suffocating silence, and its secluded location were too much to bear. When Ridge drove me back to his apartment instead, it wasn't even a discussion. He just knew. The small space, cluttered with his belongings and filled with his steady presence, became my refuge. It wasn't home, but it felt safer than anything I'd known for a long time.

Giving my statement to Campbell and DS Thompson had been brutal. Saying the words aloud made everything sharper, more vivid—Turner's confessions, the way he laughed about Craig's death. They'd had no idea who had run Craig down all those years ago and the case had gone cold with little to no evidence left at the scene.

Amber's case was officially closed. Her funeral was a quiet, solemn affair. Rich had stood at the edge of the crowd, his face pale and gaunt. He hadn't spoken to me, hadn't spoken to anyone. I'd approached him at the grave side but he did nothing but stare as her coffin was lowered.
I tried knocking at the house a few times that but he wouldn't answer the door after a month i let myself in with my key to find everything including him gone.
The silence felt heavy, another loss added to the pile I carried along with the guilt that never seemed to ebb away.

Frank and I had finally gone for coffee, just like I'd asked in the hospital. It was awkward at first—both of us unsure of what to say or how to act—but slowly, the tension eased. His gruff humour, his way of making me feel seen without asking too much, had been a lifeline in the weeks after. He'd kept his distance when I needed space but was always there when I needed him.

One Year Later....

The boxes were stacked haphazardly in the corner of the apartment—a sleek, modern space with polished floors, bright white walls, and large windows that filled the room with light during the day. The place wasn't much—a modest two-bedroom overlooking a busy street—but it felt fresh, new, and entirely mine. Frank had insisted on buying it for me, refusing to take no for an answer.

"You need something of your own," he'd said, handing me the keys with a mix of pride and guilt. "Eighteen and a half years I missed out on, and now you're nineteen Let me start making up for it." This was only a few weeks after I'd told him I was starting at Bagdon University.
He'd gone out and then handed the keys over during coffee.

The apartment was 15 miles from Moulding Springs and 20 from my old village, the apartment felt like a much-needed fresh start. It was close enough to Frank to keep in touch, far enough from the memories I didn't want to carry with me.

Frank leaned against the sleek kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching Ridge wrestle with a set of blinds. "Y'know," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, "when I hired you, it wasn't so you'd shack up with my daughter."

Ridge grunted, pulling the blinds into place with one final tug. "And yet, here we are."

Frank snorted, the sound a mix of amusement and disapproval. "Still don't know how we got here. Is it too late to ask what your intentions are?"

Ridge turned, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Get used to it. She's stuck with me."

Frank let out a short laugh, though his gaze lingered on me for a moment, his expression softening. "You good, kid?"

I nodded, smiling faintly. "Yeah, I think so." I said as I moved an arm chair in the living room for the sixth time. Frank had just finished building an ikea floor to ceiling book shelf and was now leaning against the wall need the window sipping on a Coke Zero.

His brow furrowing slightly. "Place seems nice. Quiet." His tone was casual, but the way his eyes lingered made me wonder if he'd picked up on my unease.

As the afternoon wore on, Frank helped Ridge assemble furniture while I unpacked boxes. The sounds of their banter filled the apartment, lightening the air. It felt... normal. Something I hadn't felt in a long time if ever. Frank's protective nature peeked through in small moments—a comment about Ridge's technique with the tools or an overly critical observation of where I was placing things—but it made me feel grounded, cared for.

By evening, the apartment settled into an eerie quiet. The faint hum of the city outside softened, leaving a silence that felt too complete. As I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the street below, a strange unease crept over me.

The streetlights buzzed faintly, their flickering glow casting distorted shadows on the pavement. The occasional car passed, headlights slicing through the gloom, but the street felt unnaturally still—like it was holding its breath.

Earlier, I thought I'd seen someone lingering near the corner. A shadow, motionless against the tree line. When I blinked, it was gone, but the memory of it nagged at the edges of my mind, refusing to be dismissed.

I rubbed my arms, trying to shake off the feeling. The apartment felt colder somehow, the air heavier, like it was pressing down on me. The rational part of me whispered that it was just nerves, but the instinct honed by months of fear told me to stay alert.

Behind me, a faint creak broke the silence. I froze, my pulse quickening as I glanced over my shoulder.

"Sam?" Ridge was in the door way leaning against the door frame.
"Yeah?" My voice wavered, but I hoped he wouldn't notice.

Ridge stepped into the room, his gaze softening as he studied me. "You okay?"

I nodded too quickly, turning back to the window. "Just tired."

I forced a nod, grateful for the comfort but unable to shake the tension in my chest. Ridge pressed a kiss to my temple before heading back to the kitchen. His footsteps faded, leaving me alone with the faint hum of the streetlights outside.

I turned back to the window, my eyes scanning the darkened street. The occasional car rolled past, their headlights breaking the stillness. For a moment, I let myself breathe, the logical part of my mind soothing the fear.

But then I saw it.

A shadow shifted at the edge of the tree line, quick and deliberate.
My heart thundered, the prickling sensation at the back of my neck intensifying.

"Sam?" Ridge's voice broke through the tension again calling from the kitchen. "Stop leaving all the hard work to us and come help"
I left the window  but the feeling didn't leave. It stayed, sharp and relentless, whispering that this wasn't over.