Only a little.
My body notices before my mind does… that same small, sharp pull low in the stomach, that quiet internal shift.
Attention.
I tell myself I’m being dramatic until I hear footsteps behind me.
Fast.
Purposeful.
I turn…
And something drops over my head.
A hand.
Fabric.
Darkness.
My scream gets swallowed before it’s fully born.
One arm slams across my chest, wrenching me backward so hard my heels skid on the pavement. Panic detonates in my ribs all at once, huge and white hot and absolute. I thrash instinctively, clawing at whatever is over my face, twisting, kicking, trying to get air, trying to get purchase, trying to get out.
“Let me go…”
The words come out muffled and broken against rough fabric.
A body hits mine from behind, solid and controlled. Too strong. Too prepared. My pulse goes feral. I drive my elbow back, feel it connect with something hard enough to hurt me more than him.
He barely reacts.
No no no…
I try to plant my feet. Try to drop my weight the way Zane showed me once, half joking and half absolutely not, when he was teaching me what to do if someone ever grabbed me.
Make yourself difficult.
Make yourself heavy.
Make them work for it.
I do.
For one half second, it almost helps.
Then a voice, low against my ear. “Oh, sweetheart.”
Everything in me goes cold.
My stomach drops so hard it feels like missing a stair in the dark.
Is this…Cole?
I fight harder.
I slam my heel backward, aiming blind. He curses, and his grip tightens viciously.
