27. Tessa
TESSA
Idon’t like the feeling of being followed. It’s not new. Not anymore. But it’s gotten sharper lately—like my instincts are finally catching up to a world that has already decided I’m part of it whether I agreed or not.
The bookstore is closing for the evening when I notice him. At first, he’s just another person on the street. Hands in his pockets. Casual pace. Nothing unusual. Except he matches my movements. Not perfectly. Not obviously. But enough.
I lock up, turn the sign to CLOSED, and start counting in my head. If I’m wrong, I’ll laugh it off later. If I’m not—
I don’t finish the thought. I step out onto the sidewalk, pulling my coat tighter around me as the air cools. The street is still busy—people heading home, cars passing, the normal rhythm of Redwood Crossing doing its best impression of nothing is wrong here.
Behind me, footsteps slow slightly. Still there. Still matching. Okay. So I’m not imagining it.
My pulse ticks up, but I force myself not to look back too often.
That’s the mistake people make in movies.
That’s how you confirm what they already know—that you know.
Instead, I turn down the main street like I always do.
Like nothing has changed. Except everything has.
I pass Crowder Café. Warm light spills out onto the sidewalk. Delilah is inside.
Good. That’s good. I take one more step—
The footsteps behind me shift. Closer. Not subtle anymore. My stomach drops. Nope.
That’s not paranoia. That’s confirmation. I move. Fast. Not running yet—but faster than walking.
The footsteps accelerate too.
“Seriously?”
This is not how I wanted my evening to go. I cut toward the café door and shove it open hard enough that the bell inside jerks violently. Delilah looks up instantly. So does half the café.
“Tessa?” she calls.
“Lock it,” I say quickly.
Her expression changes in a split second. No questions. Just action. The café door clicks behind me. Locked. I spin around just in time to see the man outside hesitate on the sidewalk. He doesn’t leave. Of course he doesn’t. Because that would be too easy. He just stands there. Watching.
Delilah is beside me now, moving smoothly to pull the blinds halfway down.
“What’s going on?” she asks quietly.
“I think I was being followed,” I say.
Her gaze sharpens. “Think?”
“I was being followed,” I correct.
That earns a short nod. Brooke is suddenly at the counter, phone already in hand.
“Conrad,” she says into it. “We’ve got a situation at the café.”
Good. Backup is coming. That’s good. But the man outside doesn’t move. He just stands there like he’s waiting for something. Or someone. My skin prickles.
“That’s not normal,” I say.
Delilah follows my gaze. “No.”
The man finally shifts. Not toward the door. Toward the alley beside the café. Like he’s not alone. Like this was never a solo job.
“Oh no,” I whisper.
Delilah is already moving.
“Back door,” she says.
We don’t argue. We move.
The back hallway of the café is narrow, cluttered with storage crates and supply shelves. Delilah leads without hesitation, her steps quiet but urgent. Brooke follows, already listening for movement. I bring up the rear. Which feels like a terrible idea. The back exit is already unlocked.
That’s not good. Delilah freezes. So do I. Brooke swears under her breath.
“Conrad didn’t leave it open,” she says.
“No,” Delilah replies softly.
That means—
Someone else did. Or someone got in. Before we even reach the door, I hear it. A scrape.
Low. Intentional. From outside.
“Three,” Delilah whispers.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“I can hear them breathing,” she says.
Right. Because of course she can. This is officially not my favorite day.
Brooke shifts slightly, positioning herself between me and the door without making it obvious.
Protective. Again. I’m starting to notice a pattern in this town.
The door handle turns. Slowly. Deliberately.
Delilah doesn’t hesitate. She slams it shut and throws the lock.
The handle jerks once. Twice. Then stops. Silence. Too long. Then—
A voice from outside. Low. Amused.
“She’s in there.”
My blood turns cold. Not fear. Recognition. They weren’t following randomly. They were following me. Brooke grabs my arm.
“Tessa,” she says quietly. “Stay behind us.”
“I’m not hiding behind you,” I start.
“You are this time,” she cuts in.
Another knock on the door. Harder. Deliberate. Testing. Delilah reaches for her phone again.
“Conrad’s almost here,” she says.
Good. That’s good. But it doesn’t feel like enough. Because now there are more footsteps outside. Not three. More. A lot more. And they’re spreading out. Like they’re surrounding the building. My throat tightens.
“Okay,” I whisper. “That’s new.”
Brooke exhales slowly. “Yeah. That’s new.”
Delilah’s expression hardens.
“They’re escalating,” she says.
No kidding. The back door shudders slightly under another hit. Not forceful enough to break it. Yet. But testing. Always testing. And then—
A sound from the front of the café. Glass. A sharp crack. My head snaps toward it. Delilah curses.
“They’re circling.”
Brooke pulls me back a step.
“Inside perimeter now,” she says.
I don’t argue this time. Because this is no longer hypothetical. This is happening. Right now.
The front of the café goes quiet. That’s the worst part. Silence means planning. Silence means coordination. Silence means—
“They’re inside,” I whisper.
Delilah nods once.
“Or trying to be.”
Another sound. This time from the roof. Movement. Light. Fast. My heart slams hard in my chest.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “That’s definitely new.”
Brooke glances at me. “You’re taking this really calmly.”
“I’m not calm,” I say. “I’m just out of panic bandwidth.”
Delilah almost smiles. Almost. Then the back door handle twists again. Harder this time.
Deliberate pressure. Brooke shifts closer.
“Hold,” Delilah says sharply.
We wait. Seconds stretch. Then—
The door stops. A beat. Two. Then footsteps retreat. Not leaving. Repositioning. My stomach drops again.
“They’re not breaking in,” I say slowly. “They’re mapping responses.”
Delilah nods. “Yes.”
Brooke swears again. “They’re learning how we react.”
“And adjusting,” I add.
That lands heavy. Because it means this isn’t a random attack. It’s data collection. From inside town. On us. Right now.
Then the front door opens. Hard. Fast. And I don’t even have time to react before Archer is there. In the doorway. Eyes scanning instantly. Body tense like he’s already mid-shift if needed. The moment he sees me—
Everything in him changes. Not relief. Not calm. Fury. Controlled. Immediate.
“Tessa,” he says sharply.
“I’m fine,” I start.
“You were followed,” he says.
Not a question. A fact. I hesitate.
“Yeah,” I admit.
That’s all it takes. Something in his expression tightens further. Behind him, Conrad arrives, taking in the situation in a single sweep.
“Inside,” he says immediately.
Archer steps forward. Slow. Controlled. But I feel it. The restraint. Barely holding.
“What happened?” he asks.
Delilah answers before I can.
“Multiple rogues. Coordinated. Surrounding the building.”
Brooke adds, “They didn’t break in. They tested us.”
Conrad nods grimly. “They’re escalating faster than expected.”
Archer’s gaze is still on me. Like he’s checking for damage I’m not showing.
“I’m fine,” I say again.
“That’s not the point.”
“It kind of is,” I shoot back.
A beat. Tension spikes. Then he steps closer. Too close.
“Do you understand what just happened?” he asks quietly.
“Yes,” I reply. “I got followed, then mildly terrorized in a café. Not my favorite experience, but I’m still standing.”
That earns a flicker of something almost like frustration.
“You were targeted,” he says.
“I noticed.”
“That means—”
“I know what it means,” I cut in.
Silence. Sharp. Heavy. Then I step closer too.
“I’m not made of glass,” I say quietly. “And I’m not going to start acting like I am just because they decided to notice me.”
Archer goes still.
“Someone almost cornered you,” he says.
“And I didn’t let them,” I reply.
Another beat. Then softer—
“I know,” I add. “That’s why I came here.”
His expression shifts slightly. Not less intense. Just redirected. Because now it’s not just fear. It’s strategy again. And anger. Controlled. Barely.
“They’re inside town,” he says.
“Yes,” I confirm.
His eyes darken.
“Then we stop reacting,” he says.
I meet his gaze.
“We start hunting,” I finish.
He doesn’t argue.