She shook, and it took her a while to steady enough to speak. “I—I saw something, Finn. I know it sounds stupid, but I think there’s something wrong here.”
I held her tighter. “Tell me what happened.”
She pulled back, wiped her face, and started talking. Her words came fast, jagged. “I was in the office, doing RSVP stuff. I must have dozed off. But it wasn’t sleep. I felt…watched. Like something was in the room with me, behind the glass. I looked up, and there was this—this shadow. And then it was gone, but I heard a voice. Right next to my ear. It said, ‘Soon.’”
She shuddered, then looked up at me, eyes so wide and blue I felt it in my bones. “When I got up, I checked the gallery, but nothing. I even checked the doors, the bathroom, everywhere. It was just me. I locked myself in, turned on every light. But I keep feeling it. The air is wrong.”
I smoothed her hair. “Maybe it was a dream. You said you were exhausted.”
“I know what dreams are, Finn.” The words came out sharp, brittle. “This wasn’t that. I was awake. Or at least I thought I was.”
I wanted to say something comforting. Something that would make sense of it. But the truth was, the last few days had knocked every certainty sideways. I’d never seen my mate so raw, so convinced she’d been touched by something she couldn’t see. And my wolf was pacing the length of my chest, ears pricked for danger.
“Alright, sweet girl,” I said, holding her at arm’s length. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna check every inch of this place together. But before we do, I’m gonna give the guys a call and see if they wanna meet atPearl’s for dinner. Then we’re gonna go have a sit-down with everyone and eat some good food and enjoy good company. How does that sound?”
She nodded, mouth set. “Anything sounds better than having to be alone in this building.”
“You won’t have to,” I promised. I kissed her head and sent her to the restroom to clean her face and get herself ready to go.
I did a lap of the gallery, office, and back rooms. I checked the roof access, the stairwell, even the alley behind the dumpsters. Nothing. Not a single sign that anyone but us had been in the building.
Back in the main room, Brie watched the storm through the front windows, her hands jammed deep in her hoodie pockets. “You think I’m going nuts.”
“Not even a little,” I said. I pulled her into my arms, kissing her temple. “If you feel something’s wrong, that’s all I need to know.”
She softened against me. “It’s just… I wanted this to be my thing. My gallery. But now I’m afraid to be alone in it.”
I didn’t know what to say. I’d never believed in ghosts or things that go bump in the night. But I’d seen the way the world changed when you weren’t looking—how easy it was for bad things to sneak in. And I wasn’t going to let Brie face anything alone.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s lock up, go to Pearl’s, and eat something unhealthy.”
She managed a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
We turned out all but the security lights, set the alarm, and headed for the truck. As we left, I glanced back at the big plate-glass windows. For half a second, I thought I saw a shadow flicker along the wall behind us. But it was gone so fast, I almost convinced myself it was just a trick of the storm.
Almost.
As we drove to Pearl’s, I rested my hand on her thigh, thumb tracing small circles just to remind her I was there.
But my mind kept spinning. If there was something stalking my mate—something more than nightmares—I’d burn Dairyville to ash to stop it.
Whatever it was, it was real.
And I would find it.
Pearl’s was packed, the noise level set to “barn raising.” We claimed the long table at the back, near the jukebox and under a bank of Christmas lights that never came down. The smell of frying oil and pecan pie was so thick you could taste it in the air.
The girls—Aspen, Parker, Harper, and even Juliet, who looked radiant and almost ready to pop—clustered at one end, chattering about the upcoming gallery opening, baby names, and the latest pack drama. Aspen’s eyes sparkled when she talked about her bakery’s custom cake for opening night, and Parker cackled every time Harper told a story about the bitchy pack moms trying to slow her down. Even Juliet was laughing, one hand perpetually resting on her belly as if she could barely keep the twins from busting out early.
Brie fit right in. The tightness in her shoulders melted, her voice clear and wicked, her laughter bright enough to make people at other tables turn and stare. Every once in a while, her eyes would dart my way, and she’d grin like we shared a secret no one else could see.
At the other end, the men had already settled into the familiar rhythm of “who can eat the most,” “who can bullshit the hardest,” and “whose life is the most tragic.” Arsenal ran point, as always, dissecting the best routes for parking at the gallery and which local cops to bribe for crowd control. Papa watched it all with the serene patience of a man who’d lived through a few wars and still thought nothing beat a good potroast.
Wrecker sat beside me, clean shirt and all, glowering at a plate piled two feet high with fried pickles. He jabbed one in my direction. “So, you need me to do a sweep of the gallery?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just wanna be sure there’s nothing underhanded happening there. Brie was sure she saw something, but shit, she’s been working herself to pieces. Plus, she doesn’t sleep but a couple of hours each night. She’s runnin’ on fumes, man.”
He chewed, contemplative. “Could be a stress hallucination. People get them before big events all the time.”
