My stomach drops, terror replacing the dread, sharp and visceral.
I call her back immediately, the phone pressed to my ear so hard it hurts, counting each ring like it's a lifetime. One ring. Two rings. Three.
Pick up. Please pick up. Please be okay.
She answers on the fourth ring, and the sound of her voice makes my knees weak with relief that immediately turns back to fear when I hear the panic in her tone.
"Hunter?" Her voice is small, on the edge of panic. "I don't know where I am."
Amelia
Five minutes earlier, I was sitting on the bench just outside the station, my hands still shaking from signing those papers and the panic attack that followed. My mind was replaying every word the officer said about Vincent and protection and how likely this was all to fail.
And then, my phone buzzed with a text notification. It was from the pharmacy across the street, letting me know my suppressants prescription was ready for pickup. The ones I'd been meaning to refill for weeks but kept forgetting aboutbecause everything had been so chaotic. Not that they'd do much good now with my heat already starting, but having them felt important. Like maintaining some semblance of control over my own body.
I looked across the street at the pharmacy, the bright green cross sign visible even from here. It was right there. Literally just across the street, maybe a two-minute walk. Hunter had said to wait on the bench, but he'd also said he'd just be a few minutes and it had already been longer than that.
So, stupidly, I decided to take the short walk, needing something to do to get my mind off things.
The pharmacy was cool when I walked in, the familiar scent of antiseptic and air conditioning immediately calming some of my frayed nerves. Normal. This was normal. Just picking up medicine like a functional adult.
I stood in line behind an elderly woman who was arguing with the pharmacist about insurance coverage, my mind wandering to everything except where I actually was. The restraining order. Vincent's face in the photos Dylan had shown me weeks ago. The way Hunter's hands had trembled when he'd kissed me goodbye. The approaching heat that I could feel simmering just under my skin, making everything feel too sensitive, too much.
When it was finally my turn, I gave them my name and birthday, paid, and took the small paper bag they handed me. The pharmacist was saying something about dosage instructions, but I wasn't really listening. I just wanted to get back to the bench, back to Hunter, back to safety.
I turned to leave, the bag clutched against my chest, and that's when I heard it.
"Amelia."
My name, spoken in a voice I'd know anywhere. A voice that haunts my nightmares and makes my stomach drop with terror even in broad daylight.
Vincent.
My entire body runs cold, every instinct screaming at me to run, to get away, to put as much distance as possible between me and the man who spent two years destroying me piece by piece. I force myself to turn, to look, praying I'm wrong, praying it's not really him.
But it is.
Vincent is standing near the pharmacy entrance, blocking the most direct path to the door. He's wearing his police uniform, looking every bit the respectable officer of the law that everyone thinks he is. His dark hair is neatly trimmed, his badge gleaming on his chest, his expression one of concern that would fool anyone who doesn't know the monster underneath.
"Amelia," he says again, taking a step toward me. "Thank god. I've been so worried about you."
I don't respond. My throat has closed up with terror, my legs already moving on instinct before my brain fully processes the decision to run. I head for the door, moving as fast as I can without actually running, trying not to draw attention, trying to blend in with the other customers milling around.
"Wait, please," Vincent calls after me, his voice pitched to sound concerned rather than threatening. "I just want to talk. I need to make sure you're okay."
I'm through the door and out on the sidewalk, the bright afternoon sun momentarily blinding me. The crosswalk is right there, the police station visible on the other side of the street. So close. I just need to get across the street and I'll be safe.
But there are cars coming, a steady stream of afternoon traffic that makes crossing impossible without waiting. I stand at the edge of the curb, bouncing on my toes with nervous energy, watching the cars pass, counting seconds, praying the traffic will clear before Vincent catches up to me.
I glance back and see him exiting the pharmacy, his eyes locked on me. He's moving faster now, not bothering to maintain the concerned citizen act anymore. Just pure determination written across his face.
I can't wait. I can't stand here and let him catch me. The terror is overwhelming, making rational thought impossible, and without thinking I take a sharp left and start running. Not toward the police station, not toward safety, but just away. Away from Vincent, away from the threat, running on pure survival instinct.
I'm crying, I realize, tears streaming down my face and making everything blurry. My phone is in my hand somehow, I don't remember pulling it out, but I'm trying to hit redial for the last number while running. The screen is hard to see through my tears, my hands shaking too badly to hit the right buttons.
"Amelia, stop!" Vincent's voice behind me, too close. "You're being ridiculous. I just want to talk!"
I finally get my phone to cooperate, pressing redial and bringing it to my ear while I run. It rings once, twice, three times. Please answer, please answer, please answer. But it goes to voicemail, Hunter's voice telling me to leave a message, and I want to sob with frustration and fear.
