I could get used to this.
Maybe I already had.
"Zoe! We're going to be late!"
No response. Just the muffled thump of music from behind her closed door. The final stages of teenage preparation: changing outfits three times and agonizing over whether her hair looked stupid.
I sighed, about to turn toward the kitchen to grab my keys, but Shane was already there. His hands cupped my face, tilting it up toward his.
"I'm going to miss you."
"It's one shift."
"Twenty-four hours without you." He kissed my forehead. "Tragic."
"You'll survive."
"Barely." Shane pulled me close. His hands settled on my hips as if they belonged there.
I tilted my face up, and he kissed me slowly, the kind of kiss that made me forget we were already late.
"Ugh." Zoe's voice cut through the moment. She stood in the hallway, backpack slung over one shoulder, expression caught between genuine disgust and badly hidden amusement. "Can we go? We're going to be late."
Shane laughed against my mouth. I felt the rumble of it in my chest.
"Your daughter has no appreciation for romance," he said.
"My daughter has a math test first period." I pulled back, but not far. "She's stressed."
"I'm not stressed," Zoe said flatly. "I'm traumatized."
Shane grinned at her, then turned back to me. "Be safe."
"Always." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'll see you tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow night."
One more kiss. Quick, stolen like we were teenagers sneaking around.
"Bye," I whispered.
Zoe was already at the door, holding it open with exaggerated impatience. I grabbed my keys and followed her out, glancing back once. Shane stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, lifting his hand in a wave. The morning light caught him just right, soft and golden, and something in my chest ached at how natural he looked. Like he'd always been part of our mornings.
I turned and followed Zoe down the hall.
Dangerous, I thought.Getting used to him being here was dangerous.
But I was tired of being afraid. Tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Shane had shown up, again and again, and maybe it was time I let myself believe he'd keep showing up.
The rest of the morning passed in a comfortable blur of routine.
First period, second period, Marcus bringing me an apple he'd clearly stolen from the cafeteria, James proudly announcing he'd finished his chapter book all by himself. The patrol car was visible through my window, a constant reminder that Tommy Vickers was still out there — something dangerous loose in Queens.
But it had been weeks. No fires. No sightings. The task force was starting to wonder if he'd left the city—if the surveillance had spooked him into running.
Shane didn’t believe a word of it.
He was still convinced that Tommy was building toward something, that the other schools were practice, that I was always the target.
