“You lock the door behind me.”
I blink. “You’re not staying?”
“I said I wouldn’t.”
I watch him, unsure if I believe it. Part of me doesn’t.
And part of me doesn’t want him to leave.
That part isdangerous.
He must see something in my face, because he says, “There’ll be prospects posted nearby. No one gets within a hundred feet without me knowing.”
I nod. Surprised at myself for not being afraid of him. Not feeling caged all over again.
Because I’m not.
Not even a little.
That scares me more.
He steps toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the knob. Looks back at me.
His voice softens. “You need anything, you call me. No second-guessing.”
Then he’s gone.
The door shuts behind him. I lock it. Slide the bolt. Check the windows out of habit.
The silence that follows isn’t peaceful.
It’s heavy.
Full of too many memories, too many ghosts.
I sit on the edge of the bed and wait for the panic to come back.
It doesn’t.
Not exactly.
What I feel is something I can’t name.
Minutes pass. Maybe hours.
Then—a knock.
Soft.
I freeze.
Not from fear. Not this time.
Something else.
I step toward the window and peek out through the curtain.
Viper is on the porch.
