Havoc muttered, “And he left a message.”
Trigger turned to me. “What message?”
I looked at the scarf in my hand—
still warm from my grip—
and the crisp, fresh circle carved into the fence.
“He’s telling us the game has changed.”
I closed my fist around the scarf, fury and something sharper burning through me.
“And he’s telling me,” I murmured, “that he’s willing to get close.”
Trigger looked back toward the tavern. “We should get Nora.”
“We will,” I said, already heading back.
But inside me, something had shifted.
Before tonight, it was a chase.
Now?
Now it was a personal war.
30
Nora
The room felt smaller after the crash downstairs.
Quieter.
Charged.
I stayed where Wolf left me—behind the dresser in the corner, knees pulled up to my chest, listening to the thundering footsteps and shouts from below.
Every creak of the old tavern building made my heart jump.
Every barked order reminded me he was out there.
The man hunting me.
The man watching from shadows.
The man leaving his marks like breadcrumbs.
I tried breathing the way Wolf taught me—slow, steady, matching the rise and fall of my chest—but fear still clawed its way up my spine.
Then—
Footsteps.
Slow this time.
Measured.
