I watch an elderly man sweeping the sidewalk in front of the hardware store. He glances up at my truck, his eyes tracking us as we pass. Does he notice anything different? Will he mention to his wife over dinner that Maya finally brought someone to town?
Every face in every window feels like a potential threat. I've survived this long by being invisible. Today, I'm anything but.
I park in front of the general store, my usual spot, and take a deep breath. "Remember the rules. In and out."
"Yes, ma'am."
Sasha's hand finds the small of my back as we walk toward the entrance, a possessive gesture that both comforts and concerns me.
The bell above the door chimes as we enter the general store. Mrs. Patterson is at the register, her gray hair in its usual tight bun. Two local ranchers browse the hardware section. And behind the counter, restocking shelves, is John Davis.
He looks up when we enter, his hazel eyes sharp and assessing despite his casual flannel shirt and worn jeans. I've seen him here before on my monthly supply runs, always polite but distant, the kind of man who watches more than he talks.
"Morning, Maya," Mrs. Patterson calls out, using my fake name with the familiarity of three years of monthly transactions. "Didn't expect to see you this week with the storm and all."
Especially since Pavel just came by with some supplies. But he'd only known about me. There's more to buy with Sasha in residence, and things that I ran out of or was low on that he didn't bring.
"Running low on essentials," I say, forcing my voice to stay casual. "Thought I'd better stock up before the next one hits."
Her eyes drift to Sasha with undisguised curiosity. "And who's this handsome fellow?"
"A friend." I grab a shopping basket and start moving down the aisles, hoping to discourage further questions. "He's visiting for a few weeks."
Sasha follows me, his presence at my back both reassuring and dangerous. I load the basket with canned goods, coffee, batteries, and other essentials. Sasha adds items without asking, his choices practical and efficient. Whoever he was before the amnesia, he knows how to prepare for emergencies.
I'm reaching for a bag of rice when I feel it. That prickle at the back of my neck that means someone is watching. I glance up and catch John Davis staring at Sasha. Not the casual curiosity of a small-town local seeing a stranger. Something sharper. More focused.
His eyes linger a moment too long before he catches himself and returns to restocking shelves. But I saw it. That flash of recognition, or maybe suspicion. The way his posture shifted, shoulders squaring slightly, weight balanced on both feet.
My pulse quickens. Is it real, or am I projecting? John's always been observant. Maybe that's just his nature. But the way he studied Sasha felt different. Calculated. Like he's trying to place a face he's seen before.
I catalog the exits out of habit. Front door behind us, back door through the stockroom, side emergency exit near the freezer section. My truck is fifteen feet from the entrance, keys in my pocket.
I'm planning an escape route from a grocery store. This is what my life has become.
"You're tense," Sasha murmurs, close enough that his breath tickles my ear.
"I'm always tense in town."
His hand finds my hip, steadying me as I reach for a high shelf. The gesture is intimate and claiming, and I see Mrs. Patterson's eyebrows rise with interest.
We finish shopping quickly. I pay cash, as always, and we carry the bags out to the truck. The cold air hits my face, and I breathe a little easier being outside, closer to escape.
Sasha loads the supplies into the truck bed while I unlock the cab. We're almost clear. Almost safe.
"Excuse me, sir?"
I freeze. That voice belongs to John Davis.
I turn slowly. John stands in the doorway of the general store, one hand braced against the frame, his expression unreadable as he looks at Sasha.
"Have we met before?"
10
ALEKSANDR
Iturn slowly, every muscle in my body coiling tight. The man standing in the doorway of the general store is older, maybe early sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair and eyes that assess me with practiced observation that makes my instincts scream warnings I don't understand.
