Putting the car in park. I told Melanie to stay in the car while I checked the place out first, but I should have known she would put up a fight.
“I’m not staying in the car,” she demanded. “That’s like asking to be kidnapped.”
“That’s why you lock the car door.
“Have you heard of, if there’s a will, there’s a way. That won’t stop a criminal from breaking the window or shooting at it.”
I raked a hand through my thick hair that’s grown out the longest I’ve ever had it, making me feel like some shaggy dog.
“Melanie, I’m serious. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Snow crunched beneath my boots as I stepped out of the truck, my breath curling in the icy air. It was dark except for the dim glow of the neon sign above the door.Villa Ravenna. It should have been empty. Melanie and I had locked up last night, knowing no one would be back until after Christmas. But something felt off.
“You okay?” Melanie asked, watching me as she pulled her coat tighter around herself.
Of course, she didn’t listen.
“I told you to stay in the car.”
“And I told you no.”
I didn’t even bother arguing. As we walked closer, my gut twisted, the old instincts kicking in. The way the back door was slightly ajar—the faintest disturbance in the snow near the entrance.
Someone had been here.
“Just wanna check inside,” I muttered, already moving toward the door.
Melanie hesitates. “Nick?—”
“I’ll be quick,” I promised.
The second I stepped inside, the air changed. The restaurant was silent, but something about it made my skin prickle. I reached for the light switch. Nothing. Power was out. A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck. My breathing slowed. My muscles tensed.
It was too dark. Too quiet.
Just like that, I wasn’t in the restaurant anymore. I was back in Afghanistan, moving through a bombed-out building, every shadow a threat, every creak of the floor a warning. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as I reached for my side, but there was no rifle there–just empty air.
A sound. Soft. A shuffle from the kitchen.
My hand clenched into a fist. I pressed back against the wall, my pulse hammering in my chest. I could almost hear the radio chatter, the distant thud of mortar fire.
Stay focused. Breathe. Clear the room.
The footfalls were silent as I moved forward. My senses heightened. I pushed open the kitchen door, ready for–
“Jesus!”
A figure jumped back, nearly dropping a flashlight—a kid. Maybe sixteen, wide-eyed, frozen in place near the storage shelves. I exhaled sharply, my mind snapping back to the present—no war zone. No enemy. Just a scared kid with a half-eaten cheese and bread sandwich in his hand.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” I asked. My voice was rougher than I intended.
The kid swallowed hard. “ I-I was just looking for food. I didn’t mean?—”
Mel’s voice cut through the tension as she stepped inside. “Nick?” She took one look at him and the kid and seemed to understand.
I forced myself to breathe. To let go of the tightness in my chest. I glanced at the kid again—thin, shivering, clearly alone.
Instead of anger, exhaustion settled over me. I ran a hand over my face. “You hungry, kid?”
