I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was right behind us. Not close enough to hear but not far enough to ignore either. Just there, watching.

  Saoirse’s hand was slick in mine, rain running down our arms. The lanterns above us flickered like they were nervous, too. Then Saoirse’s foot slid out from under her. Her weight yanked me sideways, hard. For a breathless second, I thought she was going to hit her head on the cobblestones. Clara yelped, a startled and piercing sound. Saoirse hit the ground, palms smacking the wet stone. She didn’t look at me, only stared down at her bloodied hands as she reached out, grabbed my hand, and pulled herself back up. We both felt it. The eerie watcher is breathing down our necks.

  We ran again, harder. My clothes were soaked, heavy, clinging to my skin like hands trying to drag me down. Every time I looked back, the shadows were different, like someone was moving through them and stirring them up. My lungs screamed for breath they weren’t getting. My smoking habit catching up with me at the worst fucking time. The street narrowed ahead of us. Buildings leaned in, like they were trying to listen. Saoirse tugged me left, toward the alley that cut behind an old workshop, but my legs were turning to mush.

  Every step felt like I was stomping through wet cement. Saoirse froze for half a heartbeat, just enough for her hand to tense under mine. She heard it too. We didn’t say anything. She pulled me forward again, faster this time. My vision tunneled, rain blurring the edges. I risked a glance back. Nothing. Just the same street, empty and miserable. But the shadows weren’t still anymore. They pulsed at the edges, like they were breathing. My lungs spasmed, a sharp burn that traveled up my ribs. Saoirse hauled me upright before I could stumble. She didn’t even look at me when she said it.

  “Don’t stop.”

  As if I needed the reminder. As if stopping didn’t feel like the sweetest possible relief. Another noise cut through the rain. Closer. A scrape along stone. A low hum that didn’t belong to any animal I knew. Clara’s fur stood on end. She hissed at the darkness behind us, wings twitching like she was deciding whether to bolt or fight. Saoirse tightened her grip on my arm.

  “Rhett,” she whispered, barely audible over the storm. I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My throat was too tight. All I could do was run and pray that whatever was behind us didn’t feel like picking up the pace.

  We crashed into my office. Blowing through the door like we would be safe inside. Only children think they’re safe beneath the covers. There was no time to rest. We rushed up the stairs as I cursed myself for not living on the ground floor. Thankfully the dash up to the third floor didn’t take more than a few minutes. My hands trembled as I put the key in the door, turning the lock with noticeable force. The old, rusty thing absolutely did not want to let us in. There’s absolutely no time for this. Especially if I’ve just been stupid enough to lead whatever this was right to where we work. I’m an idiot. I put Saoirse in danger; I should just have left her alone to mourn. This probably wouldn’t have happened had I just let her be.

  Like I even could. That girl is my godsamn problem, and mine alone to deal with. All I want right now is to get her inside and patch her up.

  The door clicked open after an embarrassing amount of struggling. Before she had a chance to protest, I stepped behind her, pushing her inside without a second thought. I rushed in, slamming the door shut after us. Locking it again, only then did my heart start to slow down. A few deep breaths had me feeling a bit more normal as I moved between the few windows in the room, closing the curtains at each one. Just in case whatever was out there was still watching. Turning back to the entrance, Saoirse was still standing there. I could see the blood dripping from her scraped hands and knees. I felt horrible seeing her like that. She deserves none of this. I kicked off my shoes and walked up to her, placing my hands around her waist. “You’re bleeding,” I said. My voice came out ragged, too breathless, too raw.

  “It’s fine,” she muttered, even though her palms were still slick with rain and blood, dripping onto my floor like some kind of twisted watercolor.

  “It’s not,” I snapped, harsher than I meant to. I guided her toward the desk anyway. She didn’t fight me, but her legs dragged like she wasn’t quite convinced they belonged to her. Clara slunk in behind us, wings half-spread, growling at every dark corner like the shadows had offended her. Didn’t blame her. Every time I glanced at the windows, I swore the glass pulsed. Like something was leaning against it from the outside. Saoirse winced as I lifted her and sat her on the counter. Her breath hitched, and that tiny sound cracked something in my chest.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, head bowed. “I shouldn’t have~.” “Stop,” I cut in. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  She blinked up at me, confused. Hurt. Rainwater slid from her curls down her cheeks, mixing with the streaks of blood like she was melting into something tragic.

  “You didn’t drag us into this,” I said, quieter this time, rummaging through the drawers for the first-aid box. “It’s not your fault he’s not here.”

  Her lip trembled. She tried to hide it by looking away. The pipes hummed in the walls. The lights flickered. Clara hissed again, louder. And for a split second, just before the bulb steadied, I swore I saw a shape outside the window. Not a person. Not an animal. Something tall. Something still. Something waiting. I clenched my jaw and snapped open the first-aid kit with more force than necessary. My hands were still shaking as I pulled out the antiseptic.

  Pathetic. I haven't run like that since… well. Since before everything went to hell. Back when Daniel was still around to drag me out of my apartment and force me to remember what air felt like. Saoirse watched me, quiet, too quiet. That wasn’t like her. She usually had something sharp to throw back, even when she was hurt. Especially when she was hurt.

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  “You’re shaking,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  “I’m not,” I lied. The room was warm. My skin felt like it was buzzing, like electricity was crawling just under it. She didn’t call me out on it. That scared me more. I poured the antiseptic over her palms. She hissed and jerked, but didn’t pull away. Brave idiot. The same kind of brave Daniel used to be. The kind that got people killed. My throat tightened.

  “This is going to sting,” I said. The understatement of the century. She let out a shaky laugh. “You always say that.”

  “It’s always true.”

  Clara hopped onto the table beside her, curling her wings around her like some kind of guardian gremlin. The little thing pressed her forehead against Saoirse’s arm, purring like she could fix everything by vibrating aggressively enough. I envied that. The simplicity of it. Just be close. Just be warm. Just exist and hope it helps. I wasn’t built like that. I reached for the bandages and caught my reflection in the window: drenched, pale, eyes too wide. I looked like someone who’d already lost. Daniel would’ve hated seeing me like this. He’d have smacked the back of my head and told me to get it together. I used to listen to him. I don’t know why.

  Saoirse shifted on the counter. “Rhett… if there’s something’s out there~.”

  “There is,” I said immediately. Too fast. Too certain. My voice cracked around the edges. “But it’s not getting in.”

  “And if it already followed us this far?”

  “Then that’s on me,” I said, wrapping the bandage tighter than necessary, because I needed to do something. “Not you.”

  She stared at me with those big, emerald eyes like she was seeing straight through every brick I’d stacked around myself.

  “You don’t have to carry everything alone,” she murmured.

  “That’s cute,” I muttered. “But yes, I do.”

  Because if I didn’t, someone else would get hurt. That was how it worked. That was how it had always worked. Daniel’s the prime example. She opened her mouth to argue again, but a soft tapping hit the window behind us. A slow, deliberate tap-tap-tap, like knuckles on glass. My blood froze. Clara’s fur puffed up. Saoirse stiffened. My hand went for the knife I kept in the drawer, even though I knew damn well that whatever was outside didn’t care about knives. But it made me feel human. And being human hurts less than feeling hunted.

  The tapping stopped. Not faded. Not slowed. Stopped. Like whoever, or whatever, was doing it just lost interest. The silence that followed was worse. Saoirse’s breath hitched, barely audible. Clara’s wings lowered an inch, but her tail kept thrashing like she still didn’t trust the quiet. I didn’t either. I moved between Saoirse and the window without thinking, knife gripped like it meant something. My pulse hammered in my ears, too loud, drowning the room. Nothing moved outside. Nothing breathed. But the wrongness stayed, sitting heavy in the air like smoke.

  “I hate this,” she whispered.

  “Yeah.” I swallowed hard. “Me too.”

  I kept staring at the glass until my eyes burned. Until I finally convinced myself nothing was about to lunge through it and tear her away from me. Only then did I lower the knife. When I turned back to her, she was watching me. Really watching me, like she was trying to memorize every line of my face before it changed or cracked or vanished.

  “You’re shaking,” she said.

  “You already told me that.”

  “You didn’t answer the first time.” She poked

  I exhaled slowly. Too slow. My hands were trembling around the knife handle, so I set it on the counter before I embarrassed myself further.

  “I thought I lost you out there,” I muttered. “When you slipped.”

  Saoirse blinked, surprised. She looked down at her hands, at the bandages I’d wrapped too tightly.

  “You didn’t,” she said softly. “I almost did. Her eyes lifted, meeting mine again. And for once, she didn’t look like the girl who always had something sharp to throw back. She looked tired. Fragile. Human in a way that punched straight through my ribs.

  “Rhett,” she whispered, “you didn’t have to drag me home. You could’ve saved yourself.” “That wasn’t an option.”

  “Because I’m your ‘problem,’ right?” she said, but her voice cracked halfway through the joke.

  I stepped closer before my brain caught up to my body. My fingers brushed her cheek, light, hesitant, like touching her too hard might shatter something important. She went still, eyes widening.

  “You’re not a problem,” I murmured. “You’re… someone I can’t lose.”

  Her breath stilled. Completely. And then she leaned into my hand. Just barely. Just enough. It felt like the whole world stopped with her. Behind us, a pipe creaked. The lights flickered again. Clara growled low at the door, fur rising. The presence outside wasn’t gone. But for the first time all night, I didn’t care. All I could feel was her.

  Warm. Alive. I could have stayed like that forever. If it was up to me, Saoirse would never leave this room again. The thought was eerily psychotic, keeping her locked up in my office. Efficient, too.

  I moved my thumb in slow circles over her pink cheeks, letting myself get just a bit lost in the silence. In this rare moment of privacy.

  “Boss!?” Rook’s voice came from the doorway, sharp and unapologetic.

  Saoirse stiffened immediately. I felt it before I saw it, the way she pulled herself back into motion, into readiness. The world lurched forward again. I dropped my hand.

  Back to work.