I would know. Wouldn’t I? I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe as I push out of bed and grab the first clothes I can find. My movements are quick, clipped, driven more by instinct thanthought. Downstairs, the answer is already waiting for me. A note. Of course it is.
Because apparently I’m living in a world now where men who turn into tigers leave handwritten notes instead of sending texts. I snatch it off the counter.
Patrol call. Stay inside. I’ll be back soon. —A
I exhale slowly, tension easing just enough to let something else take its place. Understanding. This is what he meant. When he said his role was dangerous. When he said protecting the town wasn’t optional. He didn’t just meansometimes.
He meant this. Middle of the night. Gone before sunrise. Running toward whatever threat just brushed the edges of Redwood Crossing. My grip tightens slightly on the note.
“Stay inside,” I say to myself.
Yeah. That’s not happening.
By mid-morning, the bookstore is open. Because if there’s one thing I’m not going to do, it’s sit in Archer’s house waiting for something bad to happen. Fear doesn’t get to decide how I live my life. Not again. The bell above the door jingles softly as I flip the sign to OPEN, the familiar motion grounding me in a way nothing else has since I woke up. This?—
This is mine. The smell of books. The quiet hum of the town waking up outside. The small, ordinary routine of stacking displays and straightening shelves. It feels almost normal.
Almost.
Except every time the door opens, my attention snaps toward it faster than it should. Except every unfamiliar face makes my entire body hot. Except the bond still feels… stretched. Like Archer is too far away. I force myself to focus, arranging a stack of new arrivals near the front window.
“You’re early.”
I glance up to find Delilah leaning casually against the doorway, a cup of coffee in one hand and that same calm, observant expression on her face.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I say.
“That’ll happen,” she replies easily, stepping inside.
Brooke follows a second later, offering me a quick smile.
“Figured we’d check in,” she says.
“On me?” I ask.
“On everything,” Delilah corrects gently.
That tracks.
I nod toward the counter. “Coffee?”
Brooke perks up. “Always.”
I turn to grab a couple of mugs, but as I do, I notice something subtle. The way Delilah moves through the space. The way Brooke casually shifts closer to the door. They’re not just here to chat. They’re watching. Protecting. Reinforcing. I set the mugs down a little harder than I mean to.
“You don’t have to hover,” I say.
Brooke raises a brow. “We’re not hovering.”
“You’re absolutely hovering.”
Delilah smiles faintly. “We’re being present.”
I give her a look. “That’s just hovering with better branding.”
Brooke snorts. Delilah’s smile widens slightly.
“Tessa,” she says, her tone still gentle but more serious now, “rogues tested the western boundary last night.”
