“Is someone following us?” I whisper.
“Possibly,” Caleb replies.
“That’s not comforting.”
“It’s honest.”
We walk in silence for several seconds. I focus on the ducks, on the water, on not turning my head even though every nerve in my body is screaming at me to look.
My mind is swirling with questions. “Is it?—”
“I don’t know,” he cuts in gently. “And I’m not guessing out loud.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
We round a bend, and the path opens up into a wider clearing near a footbridge. More people here. Noise. Movement.
Caleb slows, pretending to check his phone. I feel his fingers brush the small of my back again—barely a touch, but deliberate. Grounding.
“There,” he murmurs. “Blue jacket. Baseball cap. Pretending to tie his shoe.”
I can’t resist looking. The man Caleb described is like any other guy here. Inconspicuous.
“I want you to head toward the bridge,” he continues. “I’ll lag behind for ten seconds.”
My breath stutters. “I don’t like that.”
“I know.” His voice softens. “You won’t be alone. And if he moves, I’ll know.”
I nod, because that’s all I can manage. And I walk.
Each step feels louder than the last. The world sharpens—colors too bright, sounds too crisp. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat.
Caleb rejoins me exactly when he said he would, stride unbroken, expression unchanged.
“He didn’t follow,” he says quietly.
Relief crashes into me so hard my knees almost buckle. I know I’ll see that blue jacket in my dreams tonight anyway.
I stop, gripping the railing. “Jesus.”
He moves closer, not touching me this time, but close enough that I feel safer just by proximity. “You did good.”
Something in my chest tightens at the praise.
“Was it him?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he repeats. “But we’re heading home now.”
I manage a shaky smile. “Guess the ducks got enough excitement for one day.”
His gaze lingers on me, searching my face for cracks. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Just… reminded.”
Caleb’s eyebrows twitch together. “Of what?”
“That this isn’t just inconvenient,” I say softly. “It’s real.”
