I collapsed onto the first empty bench I found, cradling my purse to my chest like it might deflect bullets. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I’d have an aneurysm. I pulled my scarf tighter around my throat, a stupid, useless gesture, but it felt better than nothing.
My wolf wasn’t helping. She paced, restless, ears perked for footsteps that never came. I tried to breathe, in for four, out for four, the way I’d read on some website about how to calm yourself. But it was like I’d forgotten how to inhale without inhaling panic.
I dug my phone out, desperate for distraction, but the only thing on the screen was Harper’s text:
you good?
I stared at it. Lied, as usual:
yeah. just needed some fresh air.
I couldn’t bring myself to hit send.
I closed my eyes, but that was even worse. All I could see was Gunner’s stare—green and gold, with the kind of certainty that made you want to both run and crawl into his lap at the same time. My body was betraying me, and I hated it, hated that no amount of logic or self-help or fuck-you-mom resolve could turn off the part of me that wanted to go back and finish what he’d started at County Line. My wolf whined, low, needy.
No. Not happening. I had a plan now. I had paint and parties and, if I was lucky, a new purpose that didn’t involve getting bent over the hood of Gunner’s truck.
I kept my eyes open, watching the square with the jittery energy of a lab rat waiting for the next shock. The flowers in the planters were too bright; the breeze too sharp. Every sound was amplified—the squeal of brakes, the far-off thud of a basketball, the faint grind of boots on pavement.
Someone was watching me. I could feel it.
I scanned the storefronts—nothing. The library, the post office, the empty windows of the courthouse. Every shadow was a threat, every passing car a loaded gun. I caught a flicker of movement in the alley behind the bakery, but it was probably just a cat.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was hunting me. Not for violence, but for something worse. For the first time, I understood what prey felt like—why rabbits go into shock before the teeth even hit.
My phone buzzed again. This time, it was a number I didn’t recognize again.
don’t run, it’s not as bad as you think
The message made my blood run cold, then hot. My hands shook. I wanted to laugh—maybe it was Gunner, maybe not. Maybe it was someone else entirely, but I doubted it. The wolf in me knew her own kind.
I forced myself to sit still, spine rigid, chin up. If someone wanted a show, I’d give them the front row.
The sensation built, the air getting thicker, the light sharper. Every part of me was tuned to the next move. It was almost a relief when it happened.
From the far side of the square, I heard boots. Slow, measured, heavy. They got closer, and I could feel my wolf shiver—first in fear, then in something almost like anticipation.
I gripped the edge of the bench until my knuckles ached, but I didn’t move. I wouldn’t give him, or anyone, the satisfaction.
Gunner didn’t say anything. He just walked past, slow, his silhouette blocked by the sun, then stopped halfway to the bandstand. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t have to.
He just stood there, hands in his pockets, head tipped down, like he was listening to a secret only the pavement knew.
My wolf howled, silent and fierce, and I bit my lip to keep from joining her.
I didn’t go to him. I didn’t get up. I sat and watched, daring him to make the first move.
He didn’t. Not yet.
But I could feel it—like thunder just before the lightning, like the split-second when you know you’re about to fall and you can’t stop yourself.
For the first time in months, I felt something other than shame or dread.
I felt alive.
I wasn’t sure if that was better. But it was something.
My phone buzzed one last time:
