21. Tessa
TESSA
Iwake up reaching for him. And finding nothing. The space beside me is cold. Not just empty—cold, like he’s been gone for a while.
My eyes snap open, heart already racing before my brain fully catches up. The room is dim, early morning light barely pushing through the curtains, and for a split second I think—
Something happened.
I sit up too fast, the blanket tangling around my legs as adrenaline spikes sharp and immediate.
“Archer?” I call out, my voice rough with sleep and something dangerously close to panic.
No answer. The house is quiet. Too quiet. The bond hums faintly in my chest—not alarmed, not broken, but… distant. Stretched thinner than I’ve felt it since everything between us snapped into place. That’s what steadies me. If something had happened to him—
I would know. Wouldn’t I? I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe as I push out of bed and grab the first clothes I can find. My movements are quick, clipped, driven more by instinct than thought. Downstairs, the answer is already waiting for me. A note. Of course it is.
Because apparently I’m living in a world now where men who turn into tigers leave handwritten notes instead of sending texts. I snatch it off the counter.
Patrol call. Stay inside. I’ll be back soon. —A
I exhale slowly, tension easing just enough to let something else take its place. Understanding. This is what he meant. When he said his role was dangerous. When he said protecting the town wasn’t optional. He didn’t just mean sometimes.
He meant this. Middle of the night. Gone before sunrise. Running toward whatever threat just brushed the edges of Redwood Crossing. My grip tightens slightly on the note.
“Stay inside,” I say to myself.
Yeah. That’s not happening.
By mid-morning, the bookstore is open. Because if there’s one thing I’m not going to do, it’s sit in Archer’s house waiting for something bad to happen.
Fear doesn’t get to decide how I live my life.
Not again. The bell above the door jingles softly as I flip the sign to OPEN, the familiar motion grounding me in a way nothing else has since I woke up. This—
This is mine. The smell of books. The quiet hum of the town waking up outside. The small, ordinary routine of stacking displays and straightening shelves. It feels almost normal.
Almost.
Except every time the door opens, my attention snaps toward it faster than it should. Except every unfamiliar face makes my entire body hot. Except the bond still feels… stretched. Like Archer is too far away. I force myself to focus, arranging a stack of new arrivals near the front window.
“You’re early.”
I glance up to find Delilah leaning casually against the doorway, a cup of coffee in one hand and that same calm, observant expression on her face.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I say.
“That’ll happen,” she replies easily, stepping inside.
Brooke follows a second later, offering me a quick smile.
“Figured we’d check in,” she says.
“On me?” I ask.
“On everything,” Delilah corrects gently.
That tracks.
I nod toward the counter. “Coffee?”
Brooke perks up. “Always.”
I turn to grab a couple of mugs, but as I do, I notice something subtle. The way Delilah moves through the space. The way Brooke casually shifts closer to the door. They’re not just here to chat. They’re watching. Protecting. Reinforcing. I set the mugs down a little harder than I mean to.
“You don’t have to hover,” I say.
Brooke raises a brow. “We’re not hovering.”
“You’re absolutely hovering.”
Delilah smiles faintly. “We’re being present.”
I give her a look. “That’s just hovering with better branding.”
Brooke snorts. Delilah’s smile widens slightly.
“Tessa,” she says, her tone still gentle but more serious now, “rogues tested the western boundary last night.”
“Tested how?”
“Quick strike,” Brooke says. “In and out. Probing defenses.”
“Archer was there?”
“Yes,” Delilah confirms.
The bond flickers faintly at that. Relief. Sharp and immediate.
“See?” Brooke adds. “He’s fine.”
“I know,” I say quickly.
Too quickly. Delilah notices. Of course she does.
“He’ll keep doing that,” she says softly. “Responding to threats. Leading patrols. Putting himself between the town and whatever’s coming.”
“I figured,” I reply.
But knowing it and feeling it are two very different things. Because this? This isn’t abstract anymore. It’s real. It’s constant. And it means every time he walks out that door—
There’s a chance he doesn’t come back. I push that thought down hard. Not helpful.
Not productive.
“Which is exactly why I’m not going to shut this place down,” I say, gesturing around the shop. “I didn’t build this just to abandon it the second things get complicated.”
Brooke studies me. Then nods.
“Good,” she says.
Delilah’s gaze lingers a little longer, more thoughtful.
“We’re not asking you to hide,” she says. “But we are asking you to be aware.”
“I am aware,” I reply.
“Then you know this is only going to escalate,” she continues.
“I know.”
“And you’re still staying open?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No doubt. Because if I start giving things up now—
Where does it stop?
Delilah holds my gaze for another beat. Then—
She nods.
“Alright,” she says.
And just like that, the conversation shifts. Not over. Just… accepted.
They don’t leave. Not right away. Instead, they move through the shop under the pretense of helping—straightening shelves, adjusting displays, checking the back room.
But I notice the details. The way Brooke quietly reinforces the back door lock.
The way Delilah checks the windows, subtle but thorough.
The way they position things so there’s a clearer line of sight from the counter.
Security. Layered. Intentional.
“You’re really not subtle,” I say at one point.
Brooke glances over her shoulder. “We’re not trying to be.”
“Fair.”
Delilah pauses near the front window, her gaze flicking briefly to the street outside before returning to me.
“They’ve started testing more than just the perimeter,” she says.
I still.
“What does that mean?”
“It means they’re watching,” she replies. “Looking for patterns. Weak points.”
“Here?”
“Possibly.”
Great. Love that.
“Good thing I’m terrible at routines,” I mutter.
Brooke grins. “That might actually work in your favor.”
Small victories.
Conrad shows up just before noon. He doesn’t bother pretending this is a casual visit.
The moment he steps inside, the air shifts. He’s alert. Focused. Serious.
“Morning,” he says, nodding at Delilah and Brooke before turning to me.
“Tessa.”
“Conrad,” I reply. “You here for books or ominous warnings?”
His mouth twitches slightly.
“Warnings,” he says.
Of course.
“Let’s hear it.”
He steps closer, just enough that his voice doesn’t carry.
“Rogues don’t just attack territory,” he says. “They go after leverage.”
“I’ve heard,” I reply dryly.
“Then you know what that makes you.”
“Popular?” I offer.
His gaze sharpens.
“Target,” he corrects.
There it is. Out in the open. No softening. No sugarcoating. Good. I prefer it that way.
“I figured as much,” I say.
“Good,” he replies. “Because they won’t hesitate. If they think taking you gives them an advantage, they’ll try.”
A chill runs down my spine. Not fear. Awareness.
“They already have, haven’t they?” I ask.
Delilah and Brooke exchange a glance. Conrad nods once.
“Yes.”
That explains the reinforced locks. The hovering. The tension.
“Alright,” I say, straightening. “Then we stop reacting and start planning.”
That gets his attention.
“How?” he asks.
I gesture around the shop.
“This place gets foot traffic,” I say. “Locals. Tourists. People passing through. If they’re watching the town, they’re not just doing it from the woods—they’re blending in.”
Brooke’s expression shifts.
“You think they’re already inside town.”
“I think it would be stupid if they weren’t,” I reply.
Conrad studies me. Then—
Slowly—
He nods.
“That’s a fair assessment.”
I exhale, pacing once behind the counter as ideas start to form.
“Then we treat this like what it is,” I continue. “Not just a territory problem—a visibility problem.”
Delilah tilts her head slightly. “Explain.”
“We start paying attention,” I say. “Who comes in. Who lingers. Who doesn’t quite fit.”
Brooke leans forward. “You want to track them?”
“I want to notice them,” I correct. “Patterns. Behaviors. Anything that stands out.”
Conrad’s expression shifts again. Not just approval this time. Recognition.
“You’re thinking like us,” he says.
I shrug slightly.
“I’m thinking like someone who doesn’t want to be caught off guard.”
Same difference.
“Then start keeping notes,” he says. “Anything unusual. Anything that feels off.”
“I will.”
And I mean it. Because for the first time since all of this started—
I don’t feel like I’m just reacting. I feel like I’m contributing. Like I have some measure of control in a situation that’s been spiraling since the moment I walked into this town. Delilah smiles faintly.
“That’s exactly what we need.”
After they leave, I grab a notebook from behind the counter and set it down in front of me. Blank page. Fresh start. I tap the pen against the paper, thinking. Then write:
Suspicious behavior log.
It feels ridiculous. And necessary. Because if the rogues are watching—
I’m going to watch back. I glance toward the front window, where people move along the street like any other day in any other small town. Normal. Ordinary. Except it’s not. Not anymore. I press the pen to paper again. And start paying attention.