I step past her and scan the street. People are pretending not to stare, which is how you know they’re staring. Two teenage girls slow down like they’re “window shopping.” Old Mr. Danner stands outside the diner with a coffee, watching like it’s a soap opera.
Ellie’s phone buzzes.
Her shoulders stiffen.
I hold out my hand. “Give it.”
She hesitates, pride flaring. “It’s my phone.”
“And you’re my wife,” I say, loud enough that Mrs. Hargrove across the street suddenly finds the clouds fascinating.
Ellie’s head snaps toward me. “Wyatt.”
I don’t look at her. I keep my gaze on the street. “Phone.”
She exhales hard and slaps it into my palm.
I glance at the screen. No new message. Just her bank alerts still screaming.
Good.
I tuck it into my pocket and tilt my head toward the shop window. “Back door.”
Ellie follows me around the side like she knows this place by heart. There’s a service entrance with another new lock. Whoever did it was thorough.
I study the hardware, then the frame. I don’t miss the fresh scratches near the latch, the kind you get when someone’s been practicing.
Ellie notices my stare. “What.”
“Later,” I say.
She huffs. “You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Acting like you’re ten steps ahead and I’m—” She stops, jaw tight.
I lean closer, voice low. “You’re not behind. You’re just not trained for this.”
Ellie’s eyes flash. “Trained for what. Being a paranoid caveman?”
“Being hunted,” I correct.
Her throat works as she swallows.
Before she can fire back, a voice booms from the alley behind us.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Devil’s Peak’s newest married couple.”
Levi.
Of course.
He strolls toward us like he owns the town, firefighter jacket open, grin sharp, eyes already locked on Ellie in my flannel like he’s about to throw a parade. Sadie walks beside him, hands tucked in her coat pockets, expression calm enough to be dangerous.
Ellie mutters, “Oh my God.”
Levi points at her. “You’re wearing his shirt.”
