“Are we going?” she asked.
“Not we. Me,” I said. “I just need a plan first.”
Doc Fluffbutt chose that moment to yawn—wide, slow, and completely unbothered.
“Wow,” I muttered under my breath. “Must be nice.”
“He’s conserving energy,” Lily offered softly. “For emotional support.”
“Right. The tactical support cat. An essential role.”
Lily laughed, then immediately covered her mouth; the sound muffled but real.
“It’s okay,” I said, softer now. “We need that. The humor. The normal.”
I caught Fiona’s eye. She gave a small nod, and I gave one back.
“I’ll check the store,” I said. “Just a quick sweep. See what we’re dealing with.”
Fiona stood straighter. For a second, I saw the impulse in her eyes—the urge to take control, to go herself. But she just squared her shoulders. “If you’re not back in twenty minutes, I’m locking the doors.”
It wasn’t a threat, but a statement of grim necessity. “I’ll be back.”
“See that you are,” she said, her voice tight. “Be careful.”
“I will.”
The cat regarded us with a calm, unmoved expression, as if this were just another day in his life’s long service to humans in peril.
I checked the gun again.
Loaded.
The grip had worn smooth in someone else’s hand, not mine. At the range, I’d always rushed the trigger, chasing the noise, the kick, the neat hole appearing in the paper. I’d never once thought about what came after the shot.
Still, better to have it.
I took a slow breath and slipped out the back door of the clinic, easing it shut behind me until the latch clicked soft as a whisper.
I didn’t move right away.
I stood there, back against the wall, letting my ears do the work first.
Wind moved through the alley. Leaves scraped across the pavement. Somewhere far off, a loose sign swung on its hinges, creaking with a slow, metallic squeak.
Other than the thing I’d glimpsed the first night, nothing moved.
You’re fine, I told myself. You’re fine. Keep moving.
I pushed off the wall.
Down the alley I went, keeping close to the brick, each step placed with care—heel to toe, quiet, deliberate. My eyes swept constantly: corners, doorways, the dark gaps between buildings where anything could stand still, and I wouldn’t know until it was already too late.
Nothing.
Just me and the wind and that distant, lonely creaking.
Okay. Okay.
