I shift in my seat and slip my hand into my jacket pocket, fingers brushing the paper of my bus ticket. My escape plan. My emergency exit. It's not transferable anymore, but I could always get a new one. A different route. A different direction.
The question is… where to?
I exhale through my nose, slow and steady. Ground myself. Focus on what's right in front of me. First: this so-called book collector friend. If there's even a chance we find something useful, I need to take it. All the bigger decisions—the dangerous, messy ones—I'll deal with after.
But when Asher pulls into the parking lot and I see the bar, my stomach twists itself into a knot.
"Um… is your friend in there?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
Asher nods once. "Winston Cole. He owns the place."
"And keeps a whole secret supernatural library out back," Kayden adds, stretching like he's been sitting too long. "Right where normal bartenders store crates of beer and knockoff vodka."
Great. I guess those messy decisions are crashing in a little sooner than expected.
"Is he… one ofus?" I ask as we step out.
"Yes," Asher says plainly. "A coyote shifter. The whole Cole family is, actually."
My heart slides into my stomach with a thud.
Of course he is. Because it's not enough that I pickpocketed some kid playing dress-up in a designer coat—I had to steal from the nephew of a damn shifter clan. One Asher knows.
Just brilliant.
We step inside, the bell above the door giving a friendly jingle that feels almost mocking. The place is just as I remember—worn booths, wood paneling with stories carved into it by time, and the low hum of a place that's seen more secrets than it everspilled. I try not to shrink between the two vampires flanking me.
Then I see him.
Same man. Same warm eyes. Same quiet, powerful presence. The lines on his face settle into a slow smile as his gaze lands on me. It lingers just a beat too long.
"Well now," he says in a voice rich as molasses, "good to see you back, traveler. Coffee?"
He doesn't mention the wallet. Doesn't bring up the fact that I ghosted after the spill. No accusation, no edge. Just… kindness. For now, at least.
Asher steps forward. "We're here for your library, Winston. We're looking for something. For her."
Winston leans back, arms crossing over his chest. "You're always straight to the point, Colonel," he says with a slow smile. "But I'm gonna need more than 'something' to pull the right volumes."
His eyes flick back to me—curious, not judging. Inviting me to speak for myself.
Asher gives me space. Silent support. Kayden doesn't say a word, which is probably a miracle.
So now it's on me.
Before I can speak, Jace strides out from the back like a storm in a dress shirt. The second his eyes land on me, his whole face changes—brows snap together, mouth twists. Rage flares bright and instant.
"You!" he barks, cutting the distance between us in seconds.
In a blur, Asher and Kayden step in front of me, solid as twin walls. Kayden's already growling, ready to pounce.
Asher is more articulate. He doesn't raise his voice. "She's our guest," he says, tone sharp and commanding, "and under my protection."
Jace's jaw clenches so hard I can hear the grind. "She's a thief. She stole my wallet!"
Kayden lets out a low, amused whistle, then chuckles. Asher turns his head just enough to give me a flat look. The kind that says:Seriously?But neither of them moves.
Around us, the bar has gone quiet. The few morning patrons are now fully tuned in, mugs halfway to lips, heads turned like they're watching the opening act of a very local drama.
