His eyes lift back to mine. Dark. Serious. Unflinching. “Because you didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. “But that don’t mean shit around here.”
My chest tightens. “Are you threatening me?”
He shakes his head once. “I’m warning you.”
Then his voice drops, softer, lower. “And I don’t repeat myself.”
He straightens and steps back. For half a second I think he might reach for me. A hand. A brush. Something to prove I didn’t imagine the chemistry between us last night, what little I can remember of it.
He doesn’t.
He unlocks the door, pulls it open, and pauses with his hand on the frame.
“You see her again,” he adds without looking back. “You come find me.”
“Why?” My voice barely holds together.
This time he glances over his shoulder. “Because I can stop her,” he says. “And you can’t.”
Then he’s gone.
The bell rings as the door swings shut, bright and cheerful like nothing just cracked open inside my chest. I stand there shaking, wanting to lock the door and knowing it wouldn’t matter either.
I don’t move. I just stare at the space he left behind, like if I focus hard enough I’ll see what this really is.
Protection.
Control.
Possession.
Or maybe just guilt.
The pawn shop feels too quiet now. The hum of the overhead lights sounds louder than it should. Outside, a semi rolls past slow, engine rumbling like distant thunder.
I finally exhale and move.
I check the front door. Lock it. I check it again.
Still locked.
I don’t know why my hands are shaking this bad.
I turn back toward the counter and notice something I swear wasn’t there before. The little bell we keep near the register is knocked sideways.
Not broken. Just moved.
I stare at it, and my stomach drops. Did I bump it earlier? Did Oaks?
I glance at the front window.
There’s a reflection in the glass. Not clear, not a face, just the suggestion of someone standing across the street.
My pulse thunders in my ears. I step closer like an idiot, heart in my throat.
The street looks empty. The feed store’s closed. The hardware place down the block has its OPEN sign flickering.
No one there.
