“We know about Philly,” one said.“We know someone’s hunting you, sweetness.”
Sweetness.It was the two men that had come into the shop that morning.She was sure of it.And if they knew about Philly, then they weren’t there by accident.
Every instinct told her to leave the door locked and go for the window.
Something else, something deeper, told her to listen.
“Please,” the other added.“Let us in.We only want to help.We believe you.”
“Besides,” the first one said.“I bought breakfast, and if you let us in, I’ll cook it for us.”
She hesitated.She had a choice to make.And it was surprisingly easier than she thought.She couldn’t continue like she was.And if they were here to kill her, then at least it would be all over.She took a deep breath, opened the door and then stepped back.
Chapter Three
Rafe had cooked inworse kitchens.
Field tents with half-burned stoves.Safe houses with nothing but a single pan and a knife that wouldn’t hold an edge.Apartments abandoned in a hurry, where the cupboards held more dust than food.He could adapt to almost anything.
Riley Quinn’s kitchen, though, tested him in a different way.
It wasn’t the lack of equipment, though that didn’t help.One decent pan.Two mismatched mugs.Utensils that had seen better decades.It was the space itself.Too small.Too quiet.Too loaded with fear that hadn’t yet bled out of the walls.
Behind him, Riley sat at the small table, wrapped around a mug of coffee like it was an anchor.She watched him without trying to hide it—not in the way of someone curious, but the way of someone cataloging exits, threats, changes in routine.
He didn’t blame her.
Dorian leaned against the counter, arms crossed, posture loose enough to read as relaxed if you didn’t know what you were looking at.He caught Rafe’s eye and tipped his head toward the cupboard.
“Pan’s warped,” he murmured.
Rafe snorted softly.“Of course it is.”
He cracked the eggs one-handed, grimacing when the movement pulled too sharply.Dorian noticed.Of course he did.But he didn’t comment.Brothers didn’t need commentary for things like that.
“So,” Riley said quietly, breaking the fragile silence.“You’re shifters.”
