He saw it anyway.Felt it under his ribs as if someone had pressed a bruise.
“That note,” she murmured, “it wasn’t written on a whim.”
“No,” he agreed, voice darker than thunder.“It wasn’t.”
Her throat bobbed.“Then why warn me at all?”
He hated that question, that she was perceptive enough to ask it.
“Because,” he said, stepping closer so only she could hear, “some threats aren’t warnings.They’re countdowns.”
Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away.She leaned in a fraction, almost unwillingly, as if her body had already chosen trust even while her mind scrambled for control.
He let his hand brush her arm.“I’m not gonna let anyone get to you.Not now.Not ever.”
Silence enveloped them, heavy and intimate enough to steal the air.
Then she whispered, “You can’t promise that.”
He held her gaze, unflinching.“Yes, I damn well can.”
And he would.Even if he had to burn the world down to keep her safe.
#
By the time they reachedher apartment building, Chloe felt like a wind-up toy whose key had finally stopped turning.Her legs were gelatin, her brain oatmeal.Her emotional regulation had taken an extended lunch break and was not answering emails.
If someone bumped her too hard, she might shatter like a hand-thrown ceramic bowl.
Kayne stayed glued to her side, close enough that his coat brushed her sleeve with every step.He didn’t talk much, but she didn’t need sound.She needed this.The steady quiet.As if he were a very large, very armed emotional support person.
She snorted softly to herself, already knowing how much he would despise that description.
“I’ll go in first,” he said as they reached her door.
She opened her mouth, but he cut off her protest.
“No arguments today,” he murmured, voice low in that Cajun gravel that made her bones melt.“Not after we learned your stalker is on the loose.”
She swallowed hard.“Okay.I’m so agreeable right now it’s alarming.In fact, I would like it noted for the record that I am being wildly cooperative.”
Apparently, he was in full protector mode because he didn’t even crack a smile as he unlocked her door and pushed it open.
Nothing looked or sounded off.But the moment she stepped inside, the air felt wrong, as if someone had cracked a window and let the shadows crawl inside.
Kayne’s hand shot out in a silent order to stop.She obeyed automatically, breath stilted as he moved ahead, clearing each room with quiet, lethal precision.Muscles shifted beneath his shirt in a way she had absolutely no business noticing, given the circumstances.Her brain noticed anyway.Traitor.
Then she heard it.A soft, wet crunch.Her stomach bottomed out.
“Chloe.”His voice changed, darkening into the verbal equivalent ofdo not cross this line.“Don’t come in here.”
Which was, historically speaking, a terrible thing to say to her.She stepped forward anyway.
The moment she crossed the threshold, her breath left her in a thin, shaky gasp.Her apartment wasn’t just trashed.It had been violated.With intent.Creativity.A truly upsetting attention to detail.
Pictures on her wall of her mom, Leo, and her early workout milestones had been rearranged into a precise, eerie grid, like a museum exhibit curated by a psychopath.Her throw pillows were ripped open, stuffing arranged in neat, unsettling mounds.Her yoga mat lay unrolled, sliced down the center in a perfect line.
And her hand weights were stacked into a long, narrow rectangle.A shape.A coffin.
