Show up. Take over. Disappear. No explanations. No real conversation.
And somehow, that’s more frustrating than if he’d just stayed and argued with me longer.
I exhale slowly, pushing away from the truck and turning my attention back to the street.
The people who were watching are gone now. Or at least, they’re pretending to be. A curtain shifts in one of the nearby windows. A door closes a little too quickly further down the block. Subtle. But not invisible.
“They’re definitely watching,” I say.
The question is?—
Why? Because I’m new? Because I almost got run over by my own moving truck? Or because of him?
My gaze drifts to the garage. Closed now. Dark. Like earlier. Like he was never there at all.
I shake my head, trying to clear the lingering tension from my thoughts.
“You’re overthinking it,” I tell myself.
Probably true. Still doesn’t explain the looks. Or the way the air felt when he said my name. I push that thought aside immediately. Nope. Not going there.
I’ve been here less than forty-eight hours. The last thing I need is to start reading into… whatever that was.
Focus.
I climb into the back again and grab another box. The familiar weight steadies me, gives me something concrete to focus on. Work. That’s what I understand. That’s what I can control.
I carry the box inside, setting it down with the others before pausing just inside the doorway. The bookstore feels slightly less hostile than it did yesterday. Still damaged. Still overwhelming. But not impossible. Not anymore.
I glance toward the repaired shelf again. Solid. Reliable. A quiet reminder that progress can happen faster than expected. Even if it comes from unexpected places.
I move further inside, setting to work again with a little more purpose this time. Each book placed, each box unpacked—it adds up. Slowly, but steadily. Something is taking shape here.
Not finished. Not even close. But real.
Outside, the last light of the day fades, the sky darkening beyond the dusty windows. The town settles into that same heavy quiet I noticed the night before. But this time, it doesn’t feel quite as isolating. Because now I know?—
I’m not as alone here as I thought. Even if I don’t understand what that means yet.
6
ARCHER
The moment the scent hits, my tiger plows forward like it’s been waiting for exactly this. It’s wrong. Sharp. Feline. Not one of ours. Too close.
I’m already moving before the thought fully forms, crossing the street in long strides, my focus locking onto the bookstore. The scent is faint here—just a trace carried on the air—but it’s enough.
Enough to set every instinct on edge. Enough to make my tiger restless and aggressive beneath my skin.
Mine. Protect.
I scan the street quickly. Tessa isn’t outside. The door to the bookstore is closed, the windows dim with the late afternoon light filtering through dust and glass. Good. She’s inside.
Safer. But not safe.
The scent drifts again, pulling my attention toward the narrow alley that runs along the side of the building. I follow it without hesitation, stepping into the shadowed space, senses sharpening immediately.
There. Stronger now. The rogue didn’t just pass through. He lingered.
