Recognition hit like ice water.
The man from her porch.
The spike of terror was sharp and immediate—he came back, he’s here, he’s angry.
She couldn’t twist free—not without driving the knife deeper. Her shoes skidded uselessly against the grass. She smelled him—stale cigarettes, sweat, something sour and furious.
Around her, the square had dissolved into chaos. Kids were screaming. Someone shouted her name—Mrs. Ellery, distant and frantic. Parents pulling children back.
But Grace’s focus narrowed.
Not on her attacker. Not on the noise.
On Luke.
She caught glimpses of him through the moving bodies. The gold sash across his uniform a beacon.
Luke was coming for her.
His face was fury and fear and absolute determination.
He was coming.
Of course he was.
This wasn’t hope. It wasn’t wishing. It wasn’t even faith.
It was certainty.
Luke was coming for her.
Because he was hers.
When it mattered, when the ground dropped away beneath her feet, she didn’t have to question it.
This was like a trust fall.
The moment of peaceafteryou let yourself fall backward—when you were already in the air and you knew, bone-deep, that you were going to be caught.
The terror drained away, leaving something clear and bright in its wake.
Luke was coming.
And when this was over?—
The thought bloomed, impossible and electric, right there in the middle of the danger.
When this was over, she was going to say yes.
She was going to have dinner with Luke Bennett. He was going to walk her home. He was going to kiss her on her porch.
The idea thrilled through her, sharp and alive, coiled beneath the fear like a promise.
She was still being dragged.
Still in danger.
But she wasn’t scared anymore.
