Luke clenched the rail, pulse pounding. “Where did you go?”
He hated this. The uncertainty. The invisible threat.
And he hated even more what it meant—someone had been watching Amayah. Someone bold enough to follow her this far. Someone who vanished the moment Luke approached.
He jogged back up the steps, frustration tightening every muscle. This wasn’t the kind of danger you could predict or confront. This kind slipped in quietly, unnoticed, the way fear sometimes whispered instead of shouted.
And Amayah . . . she met danger with faith so openhearted it made Luke’s chest ache.
Faith over fear.
She lived it. She breathed it.
And sometimes it put her in situations where she trusted too easily, gave grace too freely.
He admired that about her.
He also feared it would get her hurt.
He pushed through the door into their parking level. Amayah’s car was still there. He saw Amayah inside—hands on the steering wheel, watching for him with a worried crease between her brows.
Relief washed through him, sharp and sudden.
But then another realization followed, heavier.
She had just confessed how a reporter once betrayed her.
How it—and the death of this friend of hers—had broken something inside her.
How it made her cautious about opening the wrong door again.
And here he was walking toward the car, carrying a truth that could wound her just as deeply—if not more.
He stopped for half a second, hand hovering over the door handle, guilt twisting hot in his chest.
That stranger Luke had just chased wasn’t the only danger in her life.
Luke was too.
He continued looking out the window, shoulders tense. “I didn’t see his face. Just his coat. You have no idea who this guy is?”
“No idea.”
For a beat, neither spoke. The heater began pushing warm air into the interior, but a chill clung stubbornly beneath her skin.
“Amayah . . .” Luke started gently, turning toward her. “Has this been happening long?”
The concern in his voice nearly undid her.
She shook her head, clearly shaken. “Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been imagining him. Maybe I’m just tired.”
“You’re not imagining this.”
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to lean into the reassurance. But the risk of vulnerability pressed too close—too fast—after everything they’d just shared.
She forced a small nod instead and put the car in Reverse.
As she eased the car out of the space, Luke watched her carefully, as if measuring every tremor in her hands, every uneven breath she tried to hide. The silence between them wasn’t cold—it was thick with things neither knew how to say.
