That was the contract.
Simple.
Clean.
Clear.
So why was I sitting in this coffee shop, wondering what it meant that she bolted when things got close?
Why did it matter that she was restless?
Why did I care that she didn’t let people in easily?
Because I recognized it.
Because she ran for the same reasons I did.
Because stillness for her looked a lot like loss had looked for me.
I took another slow sip, letting the heat spread through my chest.
“Anyway,” Abby said, picking up her order tablet, “don’t let it scare you. She’s worth knowing. Just… don’t try to catch lightning with your bare hands, okay?”
I managed a small, wry smile. “Good advice.”
“For free,” she said cheerfully, heading toward another table.
I leaned back on the stool again, croissant half-eaten, mocha cooling, thoughts rearranging themselves into a shape I didn’t entirely recognize.
Sienna Harper.
Lightning girl.
Harder nut to crack.
Wanderer.
And for the first time since arriving, I felt something shift. It wasn’t a decision, not a warning, but a quiet hum under my ribs.
It was something unfamiliar and probably unwelcome.
Something I wasn’t ready to acknowledge yet, but it was there.
And it wasn’t going away.
Not anytime soon.
I stayed longer than I meant to, turning the empty Americano cup between my palms.
The warmth had faded, but it lingered enough to anchor me in a space that felt, at least momentarily, removed from everything I didn’t know how to navigate.
This place was small, quiet, and safe.
Predictability in ceramic mugs.
Order in chalkboard menus.
No wolf packs or gear sheds or Harper siblings popping into doorways like caffeinated jack-in-the-boxes.
