Inside, the store smells like burnt coffee and something metallic—old and sour. A few people linger near the coolers, silhouettes half-reflected in the glass. Nothing overtly wrong. Nothing that sets off alarms.
And yet every nerve in my body hums.
Hazel grabs a water, tosses one to me, then leans closer. “You’re wound tighter than a tripwire.”
“You are the tripwire,” I mutter.
She almost smiles at that, but her eyes keep moving, sharp and alert.
We’re halfway to the counter when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Once.
Unknown number.
Ice floods my veins. I don’t need to see the message to know what it is. I feel it, the same way I felt the first time I realized Cameron hadn’t been paranoid—he’d been hunted.
Hazel notices immediately. “Zack?”
“It’s nothing,” I lie, already hating myself for it.
She doesn’t believe me, but before she can press, we’re back outside, rain coming down harder now, drumming against the pavement and the roof of the car. I unlock the doors, toss the snacks into the back?—
And the world fractures.
A hand clamps around Hazel’s arm, yanking her sideways with brutal efficiency. She gasps, spins, and someone slams into her from behind. I catch a glimpse of dark fabric, a hood, the glint of metal in the rain.
“Zack!”
I move without thinking, lunging forward?—
Pain detonates at the back of my skull.
The ground rushes up to meet me, rain and blood blurring together as I hit hard. The sound of tires screeching cuts through the air, too loud, too final. By the time I force myself upright, vision swimming, the passenger door of a dark SUV is slamming shut.
Hazel’s scream tears through the night once—sharp, terrified?—
Then the vehicle roars away, disappearing into the rain-soaked streets like it was never there at all.
“No—” The word rips out of my chest, raw and useless.
I stumble forward, my heart pounding so violently it feels like it might crack my ribs. I memorize everything and nothing at once—the direction they went, the sound of the engine, the way the rain swallowed her voice.
My hands shake as I pull my phone out.
The unknown message waits, patient.
I open it.
You brought her back to where it started.
I told you she wasn’t safe.
The rain soaks through my clothes, but I barely register the cold.
Hazel is gone.
And this time, I know one thing with brutal certainty—I’m done playing nice.
