Noah walked into Orchid Alley without hesitation, his pace unchanging, his hands tucked into his pockets as if this were nothing more than an aimless detour. The late afternoon heat still clung to the streets, thick and humid, but the air in the alley felt different—stale, unmoving, weighed down by the kind of silence that swallowed people whole. The hum of the city was just beyond the walls, close enough to remind him that the rest of the world was still turning, but here, in this place, everything felt slower, heavier, quieter.

  She was still following him.

  She thought she was being careful, leaving just enough space between them that she wouldn’t be obvious, but she wasn’t careful enough. Her footsteps were too light at times, too quick at others, her movements stilted, unnatural. She was trying too hard to blend in, and that was what gave her away.

  She had no idea how easy she was to track.

  He had known from the moment she started, had been aware of her presence long before she had convinced herself she was doing a good job.

  But she was useless.

  Inexperienced. Civilian.

  She didn’t belong here.

  She should have stopped by now, should have taken the silence as a warning, should have understood that she was in over her head. But instead, she was chasing something. Chasing him.

  And he was getting tired of it.

  Noah had already walked away, wiped himself clean, left nothing tying him to the mess they had made. He had expected her to disappear, to break under the weight of it, to take the one chance she had been given and move on. But she hadn’t. She was still digging, still pulling at the threads, still trying to find something that wasn’t there.

  She was wasting his time.

  More than that, she was making herself a liability.

  He let her follow, let her trail him, let her believe she was one step behind instead of right where he wanted her to be. He had no intention of letting this continue. If she was going to insist on staying in his way, then she needed to learn what kind of world she had walked into.

  So he led her here.

  Orchid Alley wasn’t a place for people like her.

  He had expected her to hesitate the moment she saw the sign, but she hadn’t. She had kept going, determined, focused, stubborn. She thought she was close to something, thought she was about to find an answer.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Instead, she was about to find something else entirely.

  Noah slipped into a side doorway, letting the shadows swallow him, letting the dim lighting mask the slight shift in his posture as he turned back toward the alley.

  Vivian had noticed he was gone.

  He could hear it—the pause in her footsteps, the way her breath caught slightly, the hesitation in the way she moved forward.

  She should have left.

  She should have turned back.

  Instead, she kept walking.

  Noah exhaled slowly, watching her come apart one step at a time. She was too tense, her shoulders too rigid, her movements too forced. He knew exactly what was happening in her head. The doubt. The creeping panic. The realization that she was alone in a place where no one would care what happened to her.

  But he wasn’t the only one watching her.

  Noah saw him before she did.

  A man stepped out of a side alley, older, well-dressed, the kind of rich that made people think they were untouchable. He moved slowly, deliberately, his eyes already on her before she even noticed him.

  She stopped.

  He didn’t.

  “New girl?” His voice was calm, casual, but there was weight behind it.

  Vivian turned, her body stiffening, her mind still catching up.

  She didn’t understand at first.

  Noah watched the realization hit her, saw the way her shoulders locked, the way her fingers twitched slightly at her sides.

  The man took a step forward.

  She took a step back.

  “Don’t be shy,” he said, smiling, slipping a wallet from his pocket. “You don’t have to pretend.”

  Noah didn’t move.

  Vivian did.

  She tried to push past him, but his hand shot out, catching her wrist before she could slip away.

  This was where he should have intervened.

  That had been the plan—let her follow him, let her panic, let her realize she didn’t belong here, then end it before it got worse.

  But something shifted.

  Something changed.

  The man didn’t make a scene. He didn’t drag her down in the middle of the alley. He simply turned, gripping her wrist just tightly enough to make her follow, guiding her out of sight.

  Noah’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  He stepped out of the doorway, moving without hurry, following the movement without drawing attention to himself. The alley was built for disappearances—narrow pathways, doors that led to nowhere, dead-end corridors that looked open until it was too late.

  She was gone now, pulled into one of the smaller alleys branching off the main street.

  And then it happened.

  A second shift.

  Someone else was following her.

  Noah caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.

  The man in black.

  Not just anyone. Not a bystander, not another customer, not a dealer. Someone too careful, too patient, too still to be anything but deliberate.

  Noah should have noticed him sooner.

  He wouldn’t have, except for one thing—the moment Vivian had been grabbed, the man had moved.

  Not obviously, not enough to intervene, but enough that for just half a second, his posture changed. His guard slipped. His focus sharpened.

  It was an instinctual response.

  It was small.

  But Noah caught it.

  His own steps slowed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took him in—black hoodie, boots made for function, not fashion, his stance too still to be anything but trained.

  Not a cop.

  Someone else entirely.

  Noah stayed out of sight, moving along the edge of the alley, keeping them both in his periphery.

  The man was tracking Vivian.

  Noah was tracking both of them.

  And now, he was genuinely curious to see how this was going to play out.