A footprint. Fresh. Too damn close to our back door.
Could’ve been someone cuttin’ through the alley earlier in the night… yeah. Could’ve. But I didn’t buy it. Not with Lark seein’ ghosts through the damn window. Not with her lookin’ like hell reached for her and damn near got hold.
A low curse slipped out. “Damn.”
I pushed to my feet, jaw tight, the weight of the night settlin’ across my shoulders like a chain I didn’t ask to carry.
Someone’d been out here. Maybe wanderin’. Maybe watchin’. Either way, I wasn’t waitin’ formaybeto knock on our door. I headed back inside, boots heavy, voice already a growl in my chest as I made for Devil’s table. It was time he heard what my gut already knew, the past wasn’t done with us yet.
Devil didn’t even blink when I walked up. Man could read a room without lookin’, so readin’ me—tense, wired, pissed—wasn’t a challenge. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded, eyes sharp under the low lights. “You’ve got something for me,” he said. Not a question.
I jerked my chin toward the hallway. “Not here.”
He stood and followed me to the office. Once the door shut, the air changed, he shifted from easy clubhouse calm to full-on President.
“What happened?” he asked.
I told him straight. No fluff. Lark seein’ someone. Her goin’ pale. The way she kept checkin’ that damn window. The fresh footprint in the alley—small, wrong, too close. The feelin’ of being watched.
Devil didn’t interrupt. Didn’t breathe loud. Just listened with that stillness that made any room feel smaller.
When I finished, he dragged a hand over his jaw. “You’re thinking Children of the Flame?”
“I don’t know,” I said, dragging my hand through my hair. “But my gut won’t let it go.”
Devil’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t argue.
“You’re telling me she saw Zach?” he asked.
“She thinks she did.”
“And Zach’s supposed to be dead.”
“Yeah.”
A slow exhale left him. “Supposed to.”
We both hated that word.
I paced once—small room, not enough damn space. “If he’s alive? And he was here? That cult didn’t lose people. They owned ’em. If he’s still breathin’, it ain’t by luck.”
Devil watched me like he was slotting pieces into place. “You think he’d come after her?”
“I think someone’s watchin’ her,” I said. “And I don’t like the damn pattern.”
Silence settled—loud, heavy, the kind of quiet men listen to.
Then Devil moved. “All right. First thing: Lark doesn’t hear a damn word until we know something real.”
My jaw ticked. Didn’t want her scared. Didn’t want her blindsided either.
“She’s already rattled,” Devil continued. “No point throwing fuel on that.”
I nodded. He wasn’t wrong.
“I’ll have Ash dig into the Zach situation. If that boy’s breathin’, Ash’ll know something. And we’ll put eyes on the perimeter—quiet. Nobody approaches her. Nobody gets close without us knowin’.”
Some tension eased… but not much.
