I hold his gaze.
“Noted.”
Then he disappears again into the trees. And I stand there longer than necessary. Because now there are two kinds of attention on me. Rogues. And my own people. Both watching. Both noticing patterns. Both capable of putting pieces together if I slip once.
I exhale slowly and force myself back into motion. By the time I return to town, I’ve made the decision fully. I reinforce the bookstore district perimeter personally. Not obvious.
Not visible. Just enough to make intrusion harder. Just enough to slow them if they try. But even as I do it, the problem grows clearer.
Distance is no longer protection. It’s delay. And delay won’t hold forever. I stop across the street from the bookstore again. She’s inside. Alive. Unaware.
Still mine in every instinctive way that matters and none of the ways that are safe. My tiger presses harder than before. I don’t immediately suppress the thought that follows. Avoiding her may not be sustainable anymore. Not with rogues closing in. Not with observers tracking movement. Not with instinct this strong.
I turn away slowly. Because the truth is becoming unavoidable. Sooner or later?—
Something will force the line between us to break. And when it does?—
I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop it from pulling everything else with it. I don’t go back to the garage right away. I should. That would be normal. Expected. Safe.
Instead, I circle the block once more, slower this time. It’s a controlled risk—staying human enough not to draw attention, but open enough to catch anything out of place.
The bookstore sits quiet. Still. Too still.
The reinforced perimeter I laid down is subtle, but I can feel it—my own scent layered carefully along key entry points, designed to deter without provoking. It’s not a permanent solution. Just a temporary barrier. And temporary is no longer good enough.
My gaze drifts toward the alley beside the building. That’s where they lingered. That’s where they watched. That’s where they decided she mattered. My jaw tightens.
“They don’t get that choice,” I mutter.
But that’s not how this works. Rogues don’t ask permission. They observe. They calculate. They take. And right now?—
They’re calculating her.
I step into the shadow of the building, scanning the alley again. No fresh movement. No immediate threat. But the absence of activity doesn’t settle anything. If anything, it confirms it.
They’ve already pulled back. Already gathered what they needed. Which means the next move won’t be observation. It’ll be action.
My tiger rises at that thought, sharp and immediate.
Protect.
The instinct is louder now. Less contained. It doesn’t just sit beneath the surface—it presses forward, demanding response, demanding proximity. Demanding her.
I exhale slowly, forcing the edge of it down just enough to think.
“Control,” I mutter.
Because losing that isn’t an option. Not here. Not with this many eyes on me. Not with her still completely unaware of what she’s standing in the middle of.
I step back out onto the street, the artificial calm of town settling over me again like a mask I’m forced to wear. Lights glow softly in nearby windows. A car passes at the far end of the block. Normal. On the surface. Underneath?—
Nothing about this is normal anymore. I look at the bookstore one last time. She’s inside.
Close enough that I could cross the street in seconds. Close enough that every instinct I have is already calculating distance, access, timing. Too close to ignore. Too dangerous to approach. The balance is breaking. I can feel it.
I turn away before that pull gets any stronger, forcing my steps back toward the garage this time. Because if I stand here any longer?—
I won’t leave. And if I stop leaving?—
