“Hey.”
My voice cuts through the street noise sharper than I intend. It doesn’t matter. It lands.
The man turns first. Mid-thirties, maybe older. Well dressed in that expensive but effortless way that screams money and certainty. One of those men who assumes the world bends because it usually does.
His hand is still on Delaney’s wrist.
That’s when my vision narrows.
“Back up,” I say, already stepping between them.
His grip loosens, but he doesn’t let go right away. He looks me over slowly, calculating. I’m a problem he hasn’t decided how to solve yet.
“This doesn’t concern you,” he says.
“Delaney,” I say quietly. “Step back.”
She does. Immediately. The second the space opens, she moves behind me. She’s been holding herself in place by sheer force of will.
That’s all I need to know.
I turn to him then.
“You touch her again,” I say evenly, “and you’ll regret it.”
He laughs. A short, disbelieving sound.
“You don’t know what this is,” he snaps, irritation bleeding through the polish now.
“I know exactly what it is,” I say.
Delaney’s hand grips the back of my jacket as if she needs to feel something solid.
The man’s eyes flick to that hand, then back to my face. His mouth curls.
“Oh,” he says softly. “I see.”
Ugly anger lights up behind his eyes.
“You didn’t tell him everything, did you?” he says, directing the words past me, straight at her. “You never do.”
My jaw tightens.
“That’s enough,” I warn.
He ignores me.
“Funny how you run,” he continues. “Change cities. Change stories. Pretend you’re someone new.”
I feel her flinch behind me.
That’s it.
I step closer.
“You’re done here,” I say. “Walk away.”
He scoffs. “You think you get to decide that?”
