"He’s getting bolder," Graham says.
Hunter doesn’t speak. His fingers flex once, twice, jaw clenched tight enough to grind bone.
"He got past us," Carson exhales, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Inside the fucking apartment."
"Fire every single one of those guards," Hunter snaps. "It will only be us going forward."
Graham nods. "That’s not happening again." His gaze flicks to me, sharp and calculating. "We’re locking this place down. Full coverage. No blind spots. He thinks he’s hunting? He has no idea who he’s up against."
I tryto slip back into my routine, as though nothing has changed. But the truth gnaws at me—my world’s been flipped inside out. The truth is, everything’s changed. And Finn was in my apartment, watching, close enough to press his lips to my skin if he wanted.
But pretending is what I do best.
The rink is exactly the same, the familiar scent of sweat and rubber wheels filling my lungs as I lace up my skates. The girls are loud, laughing, bumping into me the way they always do. This is normal. This is what I need.
“You good, Jinx?” Daisy nudges me as we take a few warm-up laps, her perceptive eyes flicking over my face.
I nod. “Perfect.”
It’s a lie. But it’s a pretty one, and Daisy doesn’t push.
We practice, we sweat, we crash, we cheer. For a while, I almost believe the lie.
But then it’s time for coffee. And the moment I step inside, my senses tell me something is off. I swallow down the unease and focus on the counter. Latte. Extra shot. Caramel drizzle. Routine. Normal. It’s what I need.
The guys give me space. I slip into the bathroom while Iwait for my order, my mind already moving on, already settling back into the rhythm of my life.
And that’s when I feel him. Not see. Feel.The door clicks shut behind me, and my body locks up before I can even turn. It’s giving me deja vu.
“Hello, Willow.”
A shiver rolls down my spine as I twist, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Finn.
He leans casually against the door. No tension in his shoulders, he looks completely relaxed. I should scream. I should shove past him, make a scene, do something.
I don’t. Because he doesn’t look unhinged. He doesn’t look dangerous. He looks satisfied, as though he found what he was looking for.
“Finn.”
His lips twitch with pleasure. “You’re okay. I was worried.”
It’s not a question. It’s a statement.
I swallow hard. “You can’t be here.”
He tilts his head. “But I am. Did you get my gift?”
His calm unnerves me. Because I know what he’s capable of. Because I should hate him for breaking into my apartment. Because some twisted, fractured part of me doesn’t.
He steps closer, slow and measured, until he’s inches away. Close enough that I can smell the fresh scent of soap, the lingering spice of his cologne, and his natural woodsy and clean scent underneath it all.
“I had to see you.” He lowers his voice to a whisper as he leans in. “Make sure you were really okay. You gave me a scare. You disappeared for a few days there. I knew you had to be in your apartment, though. Those three wouldn’t have had the building so guarded if you weren’t.”
His hand lifts, his knuckles barely grazing my jaw. Mybreath catches in my throat. I should pull away. I should do something. Instead, I freeze and I wait.
He leans in even closer, his lips barely moving over mine. My breath catches at the softness of them. He gives me time to shove him away or to stop him. But I hold myself still, letting the feeling of his mouth on mine wash over me.
