And then, right behind him—
A man steps into the edge of the plaza.
Not rushing. Not aggressive.
Just… watching.
His eyes flick once toward me.
Then away.
Like checking a number on a list.
Aaron’s body shifts.
It’s subtle—a predator recognizing another predator.
He takes my wrist—not hard, but firm enough that my bones feel the decision.
“We’re moving,” he says.
I try to pull free out of reflex, but his grip tightens a fraction, and his voice drops lower.
“Lark. Now.”
Something in his tone—something that isn’t command so much as certainty of consequence—snaps my panic into motion.
I go with him.
He guides me through the crowd like he’s done it a hundred times, weaving between bodies without drawing attention,angling us toward a narrow side street where the lights dim and the sound of music fades behind us.
I glance over my shoulder once.
The man in the plaza is gone.
Which means he was never alone.
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
Aaron doesn’t look back. He doesn’t need to.
He already knows.
We reach a parked car tucked into the shadows. Not flashy. Not rented. The kind of vehicle you choose when you don’t want to be remembered.
Aaron opens the passenger door.
I hesitate, staring at the dark interior like it’s a mouth.
He watches me, expression unreadable.
“This is the part where you decide if you trust me,” he says.
“I don’t,” I whisper.
His gaze holds mine.
“Good. Then listen.”
