The Ghost and the Shadow

Chapter 59 - Cabin Fever

"Where are we going?" I ask, my voice filled with concern as we speed through the darkness to who knows where.

Thoughts of the team members in danger flood my mind, "We need to go help the others; there are too many Shadows, they won't make it."

Silence hangs heavy in the air as Ghost remains focused on the road ahead, his eyes fixed on the path illuminated by the headlights.

"Why are we the only ones leaving?" I persist, my tone getting annoyed.

Still, there's no response, only the rhythmic hum of the engine and the rush of wind against the car. Annoyed, I turn away from him, crossing my arms. The darkness outside makes it impossible to discern our surroundings, but we've veered off the dirt road, now driving into the mountains. The headlights illuminate the winding mountain paths.

My mind wanders, contemplating how Graves figured out where we were. I'll put my money on Oz, he probably did something while we were on video call.

The twists and turns of the mountain road stretches on endlessly and I turn to Ghost again, "How much further?"

Still radio silence.

Finally, we come to a halt, the headlights casting an eerie glow on a weathered cabin nestled in the valley. Confusion washes over me as I take in our surroundings, "Where are we?" I ask.

"Fuckin' hell, would you stop asking questions?" he retorts, the annoyance evident in his tone.

The tension between us simmers, and I match his tone, my patience wearing thin, "I would if you'd answer me!"

His response is a cold glare as he steps out of the car, pulling me along with him. His grip on my arm is firm, and he leads me to the cabin door.

I hate it when he holds me like this, but I know complaining will get me nowhere.

After stepping onto a little porch and unlocking the door, he pulls me inside, fumbling for the light.

The light illuminates our surroundings, and the quaint room feels like a bachelor pad. There's a bed against the wall with two little bedside tables. In the small kitchen area, there's a tiny table with two chairs under the window. In the bathroom, I can see there's one of those showers that also has a bathtub. "This is cozy," I remark.

He shoots me a frustrated look.

"What?" I ask, "Am I not allowed to talk at all?"

"I'd prefer if I didn't have to hear your voice every five minutes, yes," he answers bluntly.

I click my tongue and mumble, "Fuck you," under my breath.

"You wish," he retorts.

I ignore him and walk to the kitchen, my stomach was burning during the drive here, I'm starving and need to eat something.

As I look around, more questions plague me, but I keep them to myself, knowing that his rude ass won't answer them anyway.

He casually sets up his rifle on the little coffee table by the window, not even acknowledging my presence. It's like he's completely tuned out, not paying any attention to me whatsoever.

He's really letting his guard down with his back turned to me. I could easily grab a knife or find something to whack him over the head with. Deep down I know he's aware of my every move though and will act before I even get a chance to do something.

He used to talk about training me to be as good as him, but I guess that'll never happen now.

"There's no food here," I say disappointed as I search through the empty cupboards.