felt a little too much like handing someone the weapon that could finally destroy what was left of me.
8
Ace
The tavern door slammed shut behind Tessa hard enough to rattle the windows.
For a second, nobody moved.
Then the noise started back up.
Quiet at first.
A chair scraping.
Someone clearing their throat.
Whispers rolling low across the room.
I hated every damn second of it.
“Alright,” I said flatly.
The room stilled again.
“Show’s over.”
A few people suddenly found their drinks real interesting. Others looked away too late to pretend they hadn’t been staring.
Cowards.
I dragged a hand over the back of my neck and glanced toward the flowers scattered across the floor where she’d dropped them.
Purple petals crushed beneath someone’s boot.
Something sharp twisted low in my chest.
Because none of that felt right.
Not the accusation.
Not the way she reacted to it.
And definitely not the look on her face when she ran.
I’d seen guilty people before.
Hell, I’d spent years reading liars for a living.
Tessa hadn’t looked guilty.
She looked cornered.
Like she’d been dragged back into a nightmare she already knew how to survive.
Blaze leaned both forearms against the bar. “Hell of a morning.”
I looked over at him. “Who was that guy?”
