I can feel it even from this distance now. That pull is no longer subtle—it’s constant. A low, relentless awareness that never fully shuts off. This is becoming a problem faster than I anticipated. I shift back toward the treeline, moving withpurpose rather than instinct alone. I need to reinforce visible boundaries now—not just scent markers. Something stronger. Something clearer. A message. Stay out. Not ours. Not yours. Not her.
The thought hits harder than I expect.
I pause. My tiger reacts immediately, pushing forward with irritation at the hesitation.
Mine.
I shut it down. Hard.
“No,” I mutter.
That cannot become the baseline. Not if I want control.
I continue moving along the perimeter, marking heavier boundaries at key points where rogues have already tested. Each one is deliberate. Each one stronger than the last. I’m aware I’m being watched.
Not rogue. Not civilian. Familiar. I stop without turning immediately.
“I know you’re there,” I say.
A pause. Then Felix steps out.
“You’re getting predictable,” he says mildly.
“I’m working,” I reply.
“Same thing, lately.”
I don’t like that phrasing. He glances toward town.
“Something’s drawing you back,” he says.
“No.”
“That was quick.”
“Because it’s wrong.”
“Or because it’s obvious.”
I don’t respond. Because responding gives it weight. And it already has enough.
“You’ve been near the bookstore more than usual,” he continues.
That lands sharper than intended. My expression doesn’t change.
“Patrol routes,” I say.
“Convenient ones.”
My jaw tightens slightly.
“You’re observing patterns that don’t concern you,” I say.
“Everything in this town concerns me,” he replies calmly.
That’s not an answer I like.
He steps back slightly. “Just be aware,” he adds. “People notice repetition.”
