Riley came out of the woods like a shadow given form.
First came the rustle of leaves high above, then the faint scrape of boots on bark—before he dropped from a tall oak, landing in a crouch with a silent precision that made it seem like he belonged more to the forest than the road.
The four women froze at the sight of him, their eyes swelling with sudden, desperate hope.
Dirt streaked their cheeks, and their wrists trembled where the ropes bit into their skin.
They tried to call out, but the gags shoved between their lips turned their cries into muffled sobs.
Riley didn't hesitate. He crossed the clearing in long, sure strides, his expression sharp but calm.
With a flick of his wrist, his knife was out—sharp, clean, deadly—and he began cutting them free one by one.
As the first rope fell away, Evelyn collapsed against him, crying openly as her voice finally escaped the gag.
Riley supported her weight without a flinch.
