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The thought irritated me, but it also made me feel slightly safer. That feeling didn’t last. A few evenings later, I heard footsteps behind me while I was walking home from work. They matched my pace closely enough that I became aware of them almost immediately. When I slowed down, they slowed, too.

I turned around. A man stood half a block behind me, but he was looking at his phone. The moment I looked directly at him, he turned down another street. I stood there for several seconds, trying to decide whether I’d imagined the entire thing. The following morning, I noticed another unfamiliar man standing outside the café.

He wasn’t doing anything suspicious. That was what bothered me most. He simply stood near the entrance, occasionally checking his phone and watching people come and go. When our eyes met, he looked away. I wondered whether I was becoming paranoid.

One afternoon, Detective Colin Graves walked into the café. I recognized him immediately from the few times I’d seen him around the city. He was older, probably in his late forties, with a calm persona that made him seem less threatening than he actually was. There was something deliberate about the way he looked around the café before his attention settled on me. He approached me after I finished serving a customer.

“Miss Sofia Hayes? Could I speak with you privately?”

I wiped my hands on a towel and followed him to a quiet corner. He sat across from me without opening a notebook.

“I listened to your Buried Saints podcast and the most recent case you discussed,” he said.

I kept my expression neutral. “I discuss a lot of cases.”

“Of course, but the last one you did is different.” His eyes remained on mine. “You’re asking questions about an organized crime operation that happened fifteen years ago.”

“I’m investigating an unsolved case.”

“You’re investigating information that was never supposed to become public.” When I said nothing, he leaned back slightly. “Where did you get the syndicate records?”

“I have sources, and I won’t endanger them by telling you.”

“Are any of those sources connected to the O’Connor organization?”

I felt my stomach tighten, but I kept my expression calm. “Like I said, I don’t discuss my sources.”

Graves studied me for a moment before nodding slowly. “I expected that answer.” He stood, but before leaving, he paused beside the table. “You should be careful, Sofia. Investigating old mob cases has a way of attracting attention from people who don’t appreciate being remembered.”

His voice remained calm, almost conversational, but that made the warning worse. I watched him disappear through the café doors. For several minutes, I remained where I was, thinking about his questions and the black SUV outside my apartment. Then I looked through the café window. The unfamiliar man was back, and he was watching me.

***

I left the café later than usual that night. Exhausted, I wanted nothing more than to get home, lock my door, and forget about everything that had happened during the day.

As I pulled away from the curb, I noticed a familiar vehicle parked farther down the street. I told myself it was probably the black SUV I’d noticed earlier in the week, but I didn’t want to think about it. I drove toward home, keeping my attention on the road.

A minute later, I saw the vehicle behind me. My hands tightened around the steering wheel as I turned onto another street. The SUV turned too, and my stomach tightened. I drove for another block before making another turn, this time taking a route I rarely used. I looked in the rearview mirror.

The SUV followed. I accelerated slightly, and the vehicle maintained the same distance away from mine. It wasn’t driving aggressively. It wasn’t trying to overtake me. It simply stayed behind me.

I thought about Ronan. For a moment I wondered whether he’d somehow gone back on his silent promise to leave me alone. Maybe this was his idea of protecting me. Maybe he had someone following me because he believed I was in danger and didn’t trust me to stay away from the investigation. The thought didn’t feel right.

Another possibility began forming in my mind: the people I’d been investigating knew about the podcast. Maybe someone had finally decided they wanted me to stop looking into them. I tried to shake the thought, but fear had already settled in my chest.

I approached an intersection and saw the traffic light ahead turn red. I slowed and glanced into my rearview mirror. The SUV stopped a few car-lengths behind me. Then another vehicle moved into the lane beside me. I looked over. It was another sedan.

Before I could process why it had pulled so close, it accelerated and moved directly in front of my car. I slammed on the brakes. The sedan stopped sideways across the intersection, blocking my path.

My heart dropped. The SUV behind me remained where it was. I looked around for an opening, but there wasn’t one. Then the doors opened and three men stepped out. They moved quickly toward my car. I locked the doors and reached for my phone. One of the men reached my window, and another moved toward the driver’s side.

The man outside my window raised his hand, but I couldn’t hear what he said through the glass.

Then he struck the window. The sound made me flinch. A crack appeared across the glass as he struck again. I tried to call for help, but before I could unlock the screen the man hit the window a third time

The broken glass covered the driver’s seat, glittering across my lap and the floor as I fought against the hands reaching through the window. I kicked hard as I could, catching one of the men in the shoulder. He stumbled backward with a curse.

I used the opening to grab the door handle. Another man caught my arm before I could pull it open. I twisted away and scratched at his hand, refusing to let him drag me out.