CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It started at breakfast.
A small diner off the highway. Tristan had picked it because it was quiet, tucked away, and its sign had promised fresh hash browns. We sat near the window because I wanted to feel the sunlight pouring in. I was halfway through my coffee when I noticed it.
A woman at the counter. Middle-aged. Brunette. She was staring at me.
It wasn’t a casual or curious stare. It was intense, like she was trying to place me.
I looked away quickly, heart skipping. Maybe she thought I looked familiar. Maybe she was just nosy. But when I glanced back, she was still watching me. Her brows were furrowed, lips slightly parted. She whispered something to the man beside her, and he turned to look, too.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly aware of how exposed I was. My dress felt too bright. My hair too messy. I reached for my coffee, trying to steady my hands.
Tristan didn’t notice. He was busy buttering toast, humming under his breath. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to sound paranoid.
But the feeling didn’t go away.
Later that night, it happened again.
We were at a restaurant, sitting on the patio outside. The place was loud, dark, filled with laughter and clinking glasses. Tristan was talking to the bartender, asking about local music nights, and I was nursing a ginger ale, watching the crowd.
Then I felt it.
Eyes.
I turned slowly and caught a group of people at a nearby table staring.
Two women. One man. All in their twenties.
One of the women had her phone out, angled slightly toward me.
She wasn’t taking a photo—but she was showing something to the others.
Something on the screen that made them glance at me again.
My stomach dropped.
I looked away, heart pounding, hands trembling. I felt like I was under a spotlight and they knew something.
When Tristan returned, I leaned closer to him. “Can we go?”
He looked surprised. “You okay?”
“I just… I don’t feel great.”
He didn’t question it. He paid the tab and we left.
Away from the eyes and people, the air was cool. I tried to breathe it in, but my lungs felt tight. We walked in silence for a while, the gravel crunching beneath our shoes. I was in a blur. Panicked and frightened and suddenly itching to run.
“Daze?” Tristan asked gently. “What’s going on?”
I hesitated. “I think people are… looking at me.”
He frowned. “Looking at you?”
“Like they recognize me.”
He stopped walking. “From where?”
“I don’t know,” I said quickly. “I don’t know. But it’s happened twice now. Once at breakfast. Then tonight. And I think—I think someone had their phone out.”
Tristan’s expression darkened. “You think they took a photo?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered, and my voice was hardly audible when I added, “I just… I feel like something’s wrong.”
He reached for my hand, holding it tightly. “You have any idea why people might be looking at you?”
I hesitated. “I just…”
I couldn’t finish.
I didn’t know where to start.
There was at least one reason they might be looking at me, and…
“I…”
Oh, God.
I needed to tell him.
Why can’t I just tell him?
Why were the words stuck inside my throat?
“We’ll figure it out,” he said quickly, saving me. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”
But I wasn’t so sure.
Because the way those people looked at me—it was recognition.
And I had no idea what they knew.
What if the police were looking? What if they knew?
What if this was it—the beginning of the end?
I didn’t have to ask Tristan if we could leave town. He knew already. In fact, he was just as eager as I was. He kept one hand wrapped around mine for most of the drive out, like he was worried I might disappear before his eyes.
In some way, I felt like he knew.
That something was wrong. That I had done something.
That I might be taken away from him.
By the time the last of the light disappeared, we were already gone.