Neither could I.
Trigger handed Michael a cup of coffee before moving toward the front entrance again.
Quiet.
Alert.
No one in the tavern acted panicked.
That somehow made everything feel even more serious.
Because these men clearly knew danger.
And none of them were dismissing this.
Michael glanced toward me again. “Did you notice anything unusual before today?”
I almost laughed.
My entire life was unusual.
“I don’t know,” I admitted quietly. “I barely sleep anymore.”
Hersh’s expression tightened instantly at that.
Damn him for still reacting to every crack in my voice.
Michael scribbled something in a small notebook. “Nightmares?”
I hesitated.
Then nodded once.
Because lying suddenly felt pointless.
Not with Hersh standing ten feet away watching me like he could see every secret I carried.
“I hear things,” I admitted softly. “Cars slowing outside. Footsteps. Doors.”
My throat tightened. “I’m sure it’s all in my mind.”
“Sometimes I wake up convinced someone’s standing over my bed.”
Silence settled heavily around the tavern.
Michael’s face hardened with guilt.
Trigger looked away toward the windows again.
But Hersh?
Hersh looked furious.
Not at me.
At the thought of me living like that.
And somehow that was worse.
