23. Tessa
TESSA
At first, it’s nothing. That’s the problem. If it were obvious—if someone walked in wearing a villain cape and twirling a mustache—I’d know exactly what to do. Call Archer. Lock the doors. Panic in a productive, structured way.
But this? This is subtle. Quiet. Easy to miss if you’re not looking for it. And now—
I am.
The bell above the bookstore door jingles, and I glance up automatically, my hand still resting on the open notebook in front of me.
Suspicious behavior log.
Still feels ridiculous. Still feels necessary. Two women step inside, laughing softly, their arms full of shopping bags from other stores along the street. Tourists, at a glance. Normal. Harmless. But I don’t look away right away. I watch.
The way one of them pauses just inside the doorway—not to admire the shelves, but to scan the space. Quick. Controlled. Like she’s cataloging exits. My fingers tighten slightly around the pen. Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m jumping at shadows. But then—
The second woman drifts toward the front display, not picking anything up, just… hovering. Watching. I force myself to move, like this is any other day, any other customer.
“Let me know if you need help finding anything,” I say, keeping my voice light.
The first woman turns to me, her smile easy.
“Thanks,” she says. “We’re just browsing.”
Normal. Completely normal. Except—
Her eyes linger a second too long. Not on me. On the layout of the store. I nod, returning to the counter, but I don’t stop paying attention. I can’t. Because Conrad’s voice is still in the back of my mind.
If they think taking you gives them an advantage, they’ll try.
And Archer—
Archer saying they were mapping patrol routes. Planning. Which means this? This isn’t random. This is part of something bigger. I glance down at the notebook and jot quickly:
Two female tourists — scanning entry points, not browsing naturally. 10:14 AM.
The pen scratches softly against the paper. My pulse ticks just a little faster. Not fear.
Awareness.
By noon, I’ve written down six separate entries.
Six. All subtle. All easy to dismiss individually.
But together? Together, they form a pattern.
People who don’t quite behave like tourists.
People who linger too long near doors. People who ask casual questions about things that aren’t actually casual.
“How busy does it get here at night?”
“Do you stay open late?”
“Is there much foot traffic after dark?”
On their own? Harmless. Combined? Not so much. I tap the pen against the page, staring at the notes.
“They’re here,” I murmur under my breath.
Not just watching from the outside. Inside. Blending in. Using the town’s openness against it. The realization settles heavy in my chest. Because if they’re already this comfortable—
Then we’re closer to something breaking than anyone wants to admit.
Delilah doesn’t look surprised when I tell her. She doesn’t panic, either. Which somehow makes it worse.
“You noticed it too,” she says, leaning against the counter like we’re discussing the weather.
“Yes,” I reply. “And I’m pretty sure they’re not just here for books.”
Her lips twitch faintly.
“No,” she agrees. “They’re not.”
Brooke shifts near the door, her posture relaxed but her gaze sharp as it tracks a man walking past the window.
“Tourist season just got a lot more interesting,” she mutters.
I glance between them.
“That’s it?” I ask. “No shock? No ‘oh my God, Tessa, you’ve uncovered a secret infiltration plot’?”
Delilah smiles slightly.
“We already suspected,” she says.
Of course they did.
“Then why didn’t anyone say anything?” I press.
“Because suspicion isn’t confirmation,” Brooke replies. “And confirmation changes how we respond.”
I cross my arms.
“Well, consider this confirmation-adjacent.”
Delilah nods once.
“That’s fair.”
She reaches for the notebook, flipping through the entries with quick, practiced efficiency. Her brows lift slightly.
“This is good,” she says.
I blink.
“Good?”
“Detailed. Observant. Useful,” she clarifies.
Brooke leans in to look over her shoulder.
“Yeah,” she adds. “You’ve got patterns already.”
A small, unexpected flicker of pride sparks in my chest. I squash it immediately. This isn’t a gold star moment. This is a people are potentially hunting us moment.
“So what do we do?” I ask.
Delilah closes the notebook and sets it back on the counter.
“We watch back,” she says.
“That’s it?”
“For now,” she replies. “If we move too soon, they disappear. And then we learn nothing.”
That makes sense. Annoyingly.
“But if we wait too long—” I start.
“They act first,” Brooke finishes.
“Exactly.”
Silence. Because there’s no perfect move here. Only better or worse ones.
Conrad arrives not long after. Doesn’t hesitate. Just steps inside like he’s already been expecting this conversation.
“You called it,” he says, nodding at me.
I arch a brow. “I’m starting to feel like that’s becoming a trend.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” he replies dryly.
I snort. Delilah hands him the notebook. He scans it quickly, his expression tightening with each entry.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “These aren’t tourists.”
My stomach drops, even though I already knew the answer.
“Rogues?” I ask.
“Most likely,” he confirms.
Brooke exhales slowly. “Using the crowd as cover.”
“Smart,” Conrad says. “Harder to track. Harder to confront without causing panic.”
My mind races.
“So they can just… walk around town? Like this is normal?”
“For now,” he says.
“That’s insane.”
“That’s strategy,” he corrects.
I hate that he’s right.
“They’re gathering information,” he continues. “Layout. Numbers. Response time.”
“Same thing Archer found in the forest,” I say.
Conrad’s gaze sharpens.
“He told you?”
“Yes.”
He nods once.
“Then it lines up,” he says. “Inside and outside. Coordinated.”
That word again. Coordinated. Not random. Not chaotic. Planned.
“Which means they’re closer than we thought,” I say quietly.
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No softening. Just truth.
The bell above the door jingles again. All four of us go still. Instinct. Immediate. Sharp. A man steps inside, alone this time. Mid-thirties, maybe. Casual clothes. Relaxed posture. But his eyes—
His eyes move too quickly. Clocking exits. Measuring distance. Calculating. I don’t look at Conrad. I don’t look at Delilah. I don’t need to. We all see it.
“Afternoon,” I say, my voice steady as I step forward.
He glances at me, offering a polite smile.
“Hey.”
Normal. Almost convincing.
“What can I help you find?” I ask.
“Just looking,” he says.
Of course he is. He moves through the shop slowly, deliberately, touching nothing. Observing everything. My pulse ticks up. This is it. Not an attack. Not yet. But something close.
Something that feels like the edge of a line being tested. I walk back to the counter, forcing myself to stay calm, to act normal. To not give away that I know exactly what he is. Because if Delilah’s right—
If we push too soon, he disappears. And we lose the chance to learn anything. So I pick up the pen. And write.
Male, approx. 35, scanning interior, no browsing behavior. 1:42 PM.
The man pauses near the back shelves, glancing briefly toward the office door. My grip tightens slightly.
Not that door, I think.
Instinct. Protective. Not just of the space—
But of what’s hidden beneath it. The basement. The records. The connection to Archer’s family. I don’t know if he knows. But I’m not taking that risk.
“Those are new arrivals,” I say, stepping closer, casually inserting myself between him and the office.
He glances at me again. Smiles.
“Thanks,” he says.
But this time—
The smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
He leaves ten minutes later. No incident. No confrontation. Just… gone. Like he was never here. Except now we know. For sure.
“They’re inside,” I say quietly once the door closes.
“Yes,” Conrad replies.
“And they’re getting comfortable.”
Delilah nods.
“That’s the dangerous part.”
I look down at the notebook again, at the growing list of observations, patterns, possibilities. Then back up.
“We need to tell Archer,” I say.
Conrad’s brow lifts slightly.
“You think he doesn’t already know?”
“I think he needs to hear it from inside town,” I reply. “Not just from the forest.”
A beat of silence. Then—
He nods.
“Fair.”
I reach for my phone, hesitating for just a second. Because once I send this—
There’s no pretending this is contained. No pretending we still have time. Then I type:
They’re already inside town. Using tourists as cover. Watching the shops. Be careful.
I hit send. And just like that—
The line between waiting and fighting feels a whole lot thinner.
I set the phone down slowly, my gaze drifting toward the window. People still move along the street. Laughing. Shopping. Living their lives like nothing has changed. But I know better now. Because beneath that normalcy—
Something is building. Something dangerous. Something that’s already started. And this time—
We’re not just defending the edges. We’re defending everything.