Chapter Two #2
Dorian vanished into the night and was back across the street seconds later, eyes lifting to the convenience store windows.
Riley was wiping down the counter now, movements mechanical, shoulders still drawn tight.
Rafe stood where the light never quite reached, watching her with a stillness that spoke of teeth and patience.
Two days.
Dorian felt the clock start ticking. This threw the keep their distance and no contact method out the window.
Whatever was coming for her wasn’t going to wait much longer than that.
Riley was still standing.
For now, that was enough.
****
P anic was a familiar companion.
It lived just under Riley Quinn’s skin now, a constant, jittery hum that flared the moment the man left the store. She didn’t move right away. Didn’t breathe right away. She stood there with her hands braced against the counter, staring at the scuffed linoleum as if it might give her instructions.
Two days.
The warning replayed in her head with ruthless clarity. Not vague. Not hypothetical. Precise. Measured.
And worst of all—honest.
She’d learned to tell when someone was lying to her. You didn’t survive field work, clinics that shouldn’t exist, and forty-eight hours of hell without developing that sense. The man who had warned her hadn’t wanted to scare her.
He’d wanted to give her a chance.
Riley swallowed and forced herself to move. The register needed balancing. The coffee station needed wiping down. Muscle memory took over where her thoughts refused to go. She couldn’t afford to spiral, not here, not under lights and cameras and the bored gaze of late-night customers.
Two days meant choices.
She did the math fast.
If she stayed for this shift and the next one, she’d have enough cash to get out clean. No cards. No electronic trail. Enough for a bus ticket, maybe a train if she pushed it. Somewhere noisy. Somewhere crowded. Somewhere she could disappear for a little while longer.
Running empty-handed only makes you desperate.
Desperate people made mistakes.
The bell over the door chimed, and Riley flinched before she could stop herself.
A man stepped inside.
He was tall, taller than most, broad through the shoulders without looking bulky, built in a way that spoke of strength used rather than displayed.
Dark hair, cut short and practical, brushed back from a strong brow, and faint stubble along his jaw that looked more functional than styled.
His eyes were a deep, unreadable gray, steady and assessing without being invasive, and they held her attention longer than she was comfortable with.
He didn’t scan the store like a predator or slouch like a customer killing time.
Riley’s pulse spiked.
Not fear exactly, but he definitely made her uncomfortable
He picked up a basket and began moving through the aisles with the same quiet certainty he carried everywhere else, selecting eggs, bread, bacon, breakfast staples, nothing indulgent.
Real food. Practical food. It struck her, irrationally, that he shopped the way someone did when they expected to be around long enough to use what they bought.
Breakfast food. The kind of choices that absolutely made sense at 3:00 in the morning.
When he reached the counter, his gaze lifted and met hers.
Riley forgot what she was doing for half a second.
His eyes were steady. Not invasive. Not soft either. Just observant, like he was cataloging the world instead of judging it.
“Morning,” he said, voice low and even.
“Night,” she corrected automatically.
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Fair.” He set the basket down. “I’m terrible at breakfast,” he added, like it was an afterthought. “What actually makes one good?”
The question startled her.
People didn’t ask her things anymore. Not real questions.
She hesitated, then shrugged. “Depends. If you want easy? Eggs, toast, something salty. If you want comfort, you add coffee and sit down.”
He considered that seriously, like she’d just given him tactical advice. “So not complicated.”
“Complicated usually disappoints,” she said before she could stop herself.
His gaze sharpened—not alarmed, not intrusive—interested.
He paid, thanked her, and left.
Riley stood there long after the door closed, heart doing something unfamiliar in her chest. Not racing. Not collapsing.
Steady.
That bothered her.
She shook it off and returned to her tasks, scrubbing the counter harder than necessary. This wasn’t the time to get distracted. Not now. Not when every instinct she had screamed at her to stay invisible until she could run.
The bell chimed again.
Another man entered.
She knew immediately he was like the first.
Same presence. Same dangerous calm. Different edges.
This one moved with a looser grace, his gaze warmer, sharper around the corners. He stopped in front of the small display near the register—flowers wilted from neglect, boxed chocolates collecting dust—and picked them up with faint amusement.
“Are these impressive?” he asked.
Riley snorted before she could stop herself. “No.”
His brows rose. “Straight answer, I like that.”
“Flowers die. Chocolate’s nice, but it’s temporary,” she said, surprising herself again. “If you’re trying to do something right, you get something useful.”
“Like?”
“Food that lasts. Warm socks. A decent blanket.”
He stared at her for a beat, then laughed softly.
“Practical,” he said. “I like that. Thanks, sweetness.”
He bought exactly what she suggested.
And left.
Riley leaned back against the counter, confusion washing over her in waves. Two men. Similar. Different. Neither threatening.
And both had made her feel ... seen.
Which was terrifying in its own way.
The rest of her shift blurred. Another worker arrived, yawning and complaining about the cold. Riley clocked out on autopilot, surprised when she realized the sky outside was lightening.
She hadn’t thought about running since the two men came in.
That scared her more than anything else.
She left the store and headed home, pace quickening when her skin began to prickle. The sense of being followed rose fast and sharp, every nerve screaming.
Was the warning a lie? Were they coming for her now?
She turned corners abruptly, doubled back once, heart pounding. Footsteps echoed ... or maybe they didn’t. She couldn’t tell anymore.
By the time she reached her building, she was breathing hard. Even once she was inside with her locks engaged and the chair under the knob, she still did not feel safe.
A knock came less than five minutes later and Riley froze.
“Riley,” a voice called quietly. “We’re not here to hurt you.”
She recognized it.
Her stomach dropped.
“We know about Philly,” one said. “We know someone’s hunting you, sweetness.”
Sweetness. It was the two men that had come into the shop that morning. She was sure of it. And if they knew about Philly, then they weren’t there by accident.
Every instinct told her to leave the door locked and go for the window.
Something else, something deeper, told her to listen.
“Please,” the other added. “Let us in. We only want to help. We believe you.”
“Besides,” the first one said. “I bought breakfast, and if you let us in, I’ll cook it for us.”
She hesitated. She had a choice to make. And it was surprisingly easier than she thought. She couldn’t continue like she was. And if they were here to kill her, then at least it would be all over. She took a deep breath, opened the door and then stepped back.