“Rowan.”
She blinks. It’s only once, small and involuntary.
“Why areyoufollowingme?” she fires back, voice rough. “Who sent you?”
“Answer my question,” I say. “What were you doing on Baker?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“No?”
“You don’t get to stand there and interrogate me,” she snarls, the words tearing out of her. “You’re not who you say you are, are you?Justin Collins.Fucking security consultant,” she spits. “You’re stalking me.”
Her anger is a living thing—sharp, incandescent, filling the space between us like it needs air to breathe. It rolls off her in waves, reckless and righteous and barely contained.
Something inside my chest snaps tight in response.
“If I hadn’t been watching,” I fire back, voice hardening despite myself, “you’d be sitting in a cell right now with no one coming for you. No calls. No lawyer. No one.”
The words land harder than I intend.
Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. It closes again, and the silence that follows is brutal.
I watch the moment hit her.
It’s not denial or disbelief, but recognition.
It cuts clean and deep. The truth she didn’t want to name finally forces its way to the surface—that there is no safety net waiting to catch her. No one pacing the floor. No one blowing up her phone. No one who would have shown up at a precinct demanding answers.
No one.
She turns sharply and stalks toward the car park, shouldersrigid, every step fueled by fury and pride stitched together just enough to keep her upright. I follow at a distance, close enough to intervene if I have to, far enough not to corner her.
She moves like a wound held together by rage alone.
I move like restraint is the only thing keeping me from detonating right alongside her.
The night air hits us both—cold and unforgiving. It cuts through the heat between us, strips the moment bare. No music. No masks. No velvet shadows to hide in.
Just the truth.
And it’s standing between us, sharp enough to draw blood.
“Rowan.”
She keeps walking.
I catch up and grip her elbow—just enough to stop her. She whirls on me, her eyes feral.
“Don’t touch me.”
I let go instantly. “I’m taking you home.”
“I can take myself.”
“No,” I say flatly. “You can’t. It’s past midnight, and I’m not letting you walk home alone.”
Her eyes burn. “I want you to leave me alone, Justin. Whoever you are. Whatever you think you want. I just need you to leave me the fuck alone.”
