That doesn’t seem very fair to me.
A spark of awareness races down my spine.
You say I’m yours, but you can’t claim someone without consent, little shadow.
Tell me…are you brave enough to come into the light, or will you continue to watch as I touch everyone else?
The paper crumples in my fist as rage explodes through my veins, scorching and breathless. My fingers clench, knuckles throbbing while the words echo in my mind.
He dares threaten me with other women?
My jaw locks, teeth grinding as something fierce and possessive claws up my throat. Why would he do this? Does he enjoy testing me?
My hands tremble as I jam the note into my pocket, heart pounding so hard my vision blurs. I ache to unleash chaos, to shatter rules, to do something reckless enough to finally be noticed.
Nope.
I force my fingers open, breath measured until the fire coils into a tight, controlled burn.
He won’t unmask me that easily.
Tricky little devil.
Silly man, thinking he can rile me up and not pay for it later.
I reach up to pat my head, forgetting the balaclava and hood for a moment, then tug the hem of my hoodie straight,smoothing myself back into place. Control restored. Mask secure.
I kiss two gloved fingers and press them to the porch post, leaving a silent promise in the dark.
Until next time, my love.
Tomcat asked me once why I always walk everywhere. I told him it was because I enjoy the exercise. That’s not the whole truth.
I learned a long time ago that walking is the art of vanishing. Cars are quick, but they leave trails. On foot, you dissolve into the crowd, just another note in the city’s hum. Invisible, if you know how.
What no one knows is that I keep a beat-up truck parked somewhere in the city. Not close to home. Never close. I move it every few days, just enough that it never draws attention. I also keep a few duffel bags stashed around Coral Cay—cash, IDs, a couple of weapons—spread out so I can move quickly if it’s needed. It’s not just insurance. It’s preparation. It’s survival. Maybe it’s even fear, though I’d never admit that out loud.
I haven’t seen Damon since I came here. Haven’t felt him either. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t looking. It just means he hasn’t found me yet. When that day comes, I need to know I’ll move without hesitation. I want to be ready, but I’m not sure I ever will be. Leaving all the people I love behind is unfathomable.
I’m passing Rest in Ink when an itch blooms between my shoulder blades, sharp and insistent. My stride doesn’t change. Inconspicuously, I let my gaze skim windows, catchingreflections instead of faces. There are too many people out today. The street teems with tourists and locals, a restless tide that blurs the line between familiar and stranger.
That’s the curse of a tourist town. Anyone can disappear, but danger hides just as easily.
At the new vintage boutique, I feign interest in the display while tracking the river of bodies in the glass. The itch persists. No one lingers. No one’s gaze sticks.
Still uneasy, I slip back into motion, my steps quickening on instinct. I thread through the crowd, shifting speed and direction, until I reach Pound of Fresh. Beside the laundromat, a narrow, shadowed alley offers a discreet way to double back.
The bell tinkles as I slip inside. I lift a hand automatically when Katya calls out a greeting.
“Hi. Bye. Talk later,” I chirp, already moving.
I cut through the rows of machines and push through the side door, breaking into a run the second it closes behind me. I stop at the end of the alley and wait, breathing quietly, muscles coiled, eyes scanning for any movement that doesn’t belong.
Nothing. No one slows. No one pauses, confused about where I am. No one moves wrong.
That doesn’t mean I imagined it. Just because I don’t see them now doesn’t mean someone wasn’t following me before.
I frown, unsettled. Daytime is a stupid time to tail someone. Too many witnesses. Too easy to be noticed.
