It was toward Nora.
I turned to her, gripping her shoulders gently but firmly. “Stay behind me. No matter what.”
Her hands trembled against my chest. “Wolf—don’t go out there alone.”
“I’m not,” I said. “The team’s here. Tate’s here. And you’re staying right here, where I can keep you alive.”
A flicker of fear crossed her eyes—
Not fear of the stalker.
Fear for me.
It hit harder than any threat outside.
I cupped her cheek. “Nothing is touching you,” I promised. “Nothing.”
She nodded, but barely.
I guided her to the fortified corner of the room behind the dresser, the safest line-of-sight block in the apartment. “Stay here. Do not open this door unless it’s my voice.”
“I won’t,” she whispered. “Wolf… be careful.”
“I will.”
But the truth was—I wasn’t planning on being careful.
I was planning on ending this.
I locked the door behind me and sprinted down the hallway toward the stairs.
Trigger’s boots thundered below. “HE CUT THE FENCE! HE’S IN THE ALLEY!”
Sheriff Tate shouted into his radio. “Units on route! Code red—suspect on foot!”
Saint was already at the second-floor landing, tablet in hand, flipping between outdoor feeds. “He’s fast. Too fast.”
Havoc slammed past me into the tavern kitchen, weapon drawn. “He’s headed for the shed!”
I shoved the back door open.
Cool air slapped my face.
It looked like a storm was brewing—I looked at the ground.
Footprints.
Deep.
Rushed.
Erratic.
Leading toward the fence.
Trigger crouched near the broken window. “He smashed a glass bottle to get our attention. It wasn’t to enter—it was to lure us.”
Saint muttered, “Diversion.”
