“Normal,” I repeat.
She nods quickly. “My dad’s been... quiet. Since that night. He hasn’t said anything.”
“That’s good.”
We walk in silence for a few seconds. She’s gripping her coffee cup tight.
“What’re you doing here?” she asks quietly.
“Just checking in.”
She offers a small smile. “I’m okay.”
I let the silence stretch, watching her fidget with her backpack strap.
“Your dad installed new cameras,” I say finally.
She stops walking. “What?”
“Two more. One on the back corner of the house facing the side yard. One mounted higher up to cover the driveway approach.”
The color drains from her face. “How do you know that?”
“I pay attention.”
She stares at me. Now she understands.
“Why are you telling me this?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
“Because you should be careful.”
She looks away. Down at her coffee. At the students walking past us. Anywhere but at me.
“I have to go,” she says.
I don’t stop her. Just step aside and let her pass.
But as she starts to walk away, I say her name.
“Tiger.”
She stops.
“If you need anything—and I mean anything—you know where to find me.”
She nods once, a barely perceptible movement, and then she’s walking again. Faster this time. More aware. The lightness from earlier completely gone.
I watch her disappear around the corner of the building, and I know she understands now.
I saw Callum last night. I saw everything. And so did her dad.
I pull out my phone and text Zephyr.
Jax: We need to talk.
Zephyr: Tonight.
Jax: Her dad’s escalating. We need a plan.
