Still open.
Barely.
I parked across the street. Engine off. Lights killed.
Not hidden behind other cars or tucked into alleys.
Just there.
Visible.
Deliberate.
The storefront looked smaller at night. More fragile. Yellow light turned the glass into something almost welcoming—if you didn't know better.
I did.
Same windows she'd stood behind three nights ago, unaware I'd been watching. Same door she now locked early, like deadbolts could keep out what had already decided to come in. Same street where everything would change.
I didn't move yet.
She would feel me coming.
The way prey always sensed the shift in air pressure before the predator struck.
I settled back against the headrest. Watched. Waited. Patient.
Inside, Belle moved between shelves, unaware her time had just run out.
I crossed the street.
Three strides. No hesitation.
The bell chimed when I pushed through—bright, cheerful, oblivious to what it announced.
Belle looked up from the register. Her reaction arrived in layers. Surprise first. Eyes widening, lips parting on an inhale she didn't finish.
Then anger—jaw tightening, shoulders squaring like she could make herself bigger through sheer will. And underneath it all, buried so deep she probably told herself it wasn't there?—
Fear.
Raw. Honest. The kind that tasted like truth.
I stepped inside. Let the door swing shut behind me. Reached back without looking. Turned the lock.
The click echoed through the narrow space between us. Not loud. Not aggressive.
Just absolute.
Her gaze dropped to my hand. Back to my face. "We're closed."
"I know."
"Then you should leave."
I didn't move. Didn't smile. Just stood there, blocking the only exit, watching her calculate odds that had already been decided.
"We need to talk, Belle."
