I waited for him to come back. He didn’t.
I waited for someone to tell me to get back on the floor. That didn’t happen either.
So I do what I always do when the ground shifts under me and nobody will tell me where the fault line is—I run.
I’m done with this bullshit. I’m leaving this town. Leaving Noir. Leaving Shiloh with his sideways grins and his middle of the night comfort.
I can’t do it anymore. I’ll find another way to get my revenge.
The back door bangs shut behind me, and the night air hits like wet heat and old grease. The gravel lot behind Noir is where whichever staff gets here earliest parkstheir dented trucks and tired sedans, where the dumpsters sit tucked behind a wooden lattice bolted to brick as if lattice can hide the smell of food scraps, coffee grounds, bleach, and rot.
I breathe it in regardless of its nastiness, trying to cool off.
My mouth still tingles from Ever’s kiss, which pisses me off all over again.
“You should really think about leaving.” I make a face and do a high-pitched mimicry of something that is definitely not Ever’s voice. As petty as it is, it settles something in me.
Without warning, without explanation, he kisses me, tells me I should leave, and disappears. No clarity. No answer. Noyes, you still have a job. Nono, get your shit and go.
It should not hurt my pride this much. It definitely shouldn’t feel like being shut out.
“Asshole.” I kick a rock, watching as it pings off the dumpster between the strips of lattice.
A hot, traitorous sting pricks behind my eyes. I blink hard and look toward the line of cars so I don’t have to admit I’m this close to crying over a man I barely know and a job I only took to hunt a killer.
This is harder than I thought it would be.
Not the working. Not the lying.
The waiting. The not knowing. The way these men pull me in and shut me out in the same breath until I can’t tell whether I’m getting closer to what I came for or losing the plot altogether.
I could finish my shift.
I probably should finish my shift—it’s the adult thing to do.
Or I could just get in my car and drive until the road runs out and tell myself I’m preserving my dignity.
“Mrreow.”
The sound is so small I almost miss it under the hum of the city and the buzz of the security light over the back door.
I frown and glance toward the dumpsters again. The lattice rattles faintly, like something brushed against it from the other side.
“Hello?” I mutter, because apparently this night hasn’t humiliated me enough yet.
Another tiny cry answers me.
I step closer, peering through the narrow gaps in the wood. A scrap of orange fur shifts in the shadows beside the dumpster wheel.
It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, then a kitten blinks up at me.
He’s barely bigger than my hand. Orange and scruffy, with white paws and a white blaze that runs up the center of his forehead.
No…not a blaze.
A cross.
My breath catches.
