Then she paused.
Looked both ways.
And lifted her face to the sunset.
Something in me stopped.
She didn’t know I was watching.
Didn’t know how beautiful she looked standing there with the wind tugging her hair and her eyes closed like she was making a wish.
Saint’s voice drifted up the stairs. “Wolf? You good?”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Fine.”
I wasn’t fine.
Not even close.
Nora started walking across the street — not toward the tavern, but toward home. She lived four blocks down, near the bakery. But tonight…
She kept glancing over her shoulder.
Not at us.
Not at the tavern.
Behind her.
I straightened.
Something in her body language prickled at my instincts — the way her shoulders tightened, the way her hand hovered near her bag strap, the way her pace quickened.
Someone was behind her.
I moved.
Fast.
I was down the stairs in seconds, ignoring Trigger yelling, “HEY, WHAT HAPPENED??”
Out the door.
Onto the street.
“Nora,” I called.
She stopped abruptly and turned.
Her face relaxed when she saw me. “Wolf. Oh. Hi.”
“You okay?”
Her brows pulled together. “I think so. I just—felt like someone was behind me.”
My pulse kicked. “Did you see anyone?”
She hesitated. “No. Probably just… nerves.”
