I can already hear my own voice from earlier in the day insisting the flyer boards need to “look cohesive,” which is deeply embarrassing to admit even internally, but unfortunately still true.
So I grab my jacket, tell Zane I’m running down to Granger’s for five minutes, and ignore the look he gives me.
“I can go,” he says immediately.
“Zane—”
“Or I walk with you.” His voice is calm, but there’s no give in it. “You don’t go alone.”
My chest tightens, not from fear this time, but from something more complicated. “It’s thumbtacks. Not a hostage negotiation.”
His jaw shifts. “That’s not the point.”
“I know.” I step closer. “But I can’t live like I need an escort to breathe. Not here. Not when I’m trying to build something.”
“Five minutes,” I add. “Front street. Lights. People. I’ll be careful.”
Finn looks up from where he’s half sprawled on a stool, pretending his side doesn’t still hurt, and points at me. “Bring me candy.”
“You are a grown man.”
“I’m an injured grown man.”
“That feels manipulative.”
“It is manipulative. Still want the candy. And don’t take the alley, even if it’s faster,” he adds without looking up.
I pause.
“I won’t,” I say automatically.
He hums like he doesn’t fully believe me.
The evening’s cooler now, crisp against my cheeks, the kind of mountain cold that makes everything smell sharper. Pine. Woodsmoke. Damp earth. The alley behind The Hollow is dim but familiar, edged in shadow and the spill of light from the back door.
I should go around front.
I know that.
The front is brighter, busier, louder. Safer in the obvious, practical sense.
But Granger’s is just down the side street. Five minutes, maybe less. I’ve walked this route before. The town feels settled tonight, alive in that comfortable, low-key way it gets when people are drifting between dinner and evening plans.
My stomach tightens anyway, that lingering, stubborn echo of fear that hasn’t quite left since the attack.
But still, I go.
I cut down the street with my hands shoved into my jacket pockets, my boots tapping lightly against the pavement. String lights dance in the distance over Main Street. I can hear the faint hum of voices from the square, music playing somewhere farther off, the normal sounds of a town folding into evening.
And for one fragile, stupid moment, I let myself relax.
Enough that I’m thinking about thumbtacks and poster symmetry and whether Finn will count gummy bears as medical recovery support.
I’m maybe halfway there when I realize the street is quieter than it should be.
The little side stretch between The Hollow and the next row of shops isn’t fully dark, but it’s dimmer here. Fewer windows. No direct line of sight from the front cameras. The nearest pool of light is behind me.
I slow.
