Page 38 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

A hooded figure. Definitely male. Large frame, broad shoulders, standing under the bus stop across the road. Just… standing there. Looking up at my building.

I dropped to the carpet like I was dodging sniper fire.

All air left my lungs. This wasn’t paranoia anymore. This was real. Someone had followed me home, tracked down where I lived, and was watching my flat.

I fumbled for my phone, scrolling through contacts with shaking fingers. For a moment, my thumb hovered over Kit’s name. He’d take this seriously. Very seriously indeed. He’d instantly race over here and try to track down the stalker with his wolf skills.

But the idea of him in my flat, the awkward vibe between us made ten times worse by my rattled panic? No thanks.

Seb’s number it was. He was my boss, after all.

“Magpie?” Seb answered on the first ring. “What is it?”

He didn’t sound impatient, exactly, though it was Friday night and Flynn was probably wrapped around him like an octopus. I was forever scarred by what I’d seen on the rooftop cameras that one time. Forever scarred.

“I think I’m being stalked,” I said in a rush, then paused, gathering my courage. “No, I know it. Someone’s been following me for months now—on my journey home from work, in the evenings, and sometimes on weekends. I didn’t tell you before because I wasn’t one hundred percent sure, and I didn’t want to sound crazy, because why me, right? But tonight, I just saw a man standing under the bus stop across from my building, and he was staring directly at me.”

God, it felt good to finally say it.

Seb paused for a moment, then said, “I’ll send Poodle to your address, right away.”

I groaned. All of my Kit-fears were going to come true. “Will I have to talk to him?” The ridiculous question slipped out before I could stop it. The situation had clearly thrown me completely off balance.

“What? Yes, you can show him where the man was standing. He might still be nearby. Are there any cameras on your road?”

“No. I don’t think so. My apartment block is from the 1950s and doesn’t even have a lift.”

“Order some cameras on the credit card. Tonight. I’m sure you can install them somewhere sensible?”

“Yes.” I said. Then added, “Thank you for taking this seriously, Seb,” in a whisper, gratitude flooding through me. I should have just told him all this weeks ago.

“Of course. Poodle will be there ASAP. He’ll be able to inspect the perimeter far better than me, then give me a full report.”

I lay flat on the carpet after hanging up, dreading Kit’s arrival. He’d want ten times more details than Seb about the stalking—I knew it. He’d make me recount every time I thought it had happened, every detail I remembered. I’d have to make him tea, probably. It would be a whole thing.

All too soon, there was knocking on the door. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes since I’d hung up on Seb. Kit must have happened to be somewhere nearby here.

I opened the door, and for a long moment we just stared at each other. The corridor light was broken, so Kit was standing silhouetted against the warm glow spilling from my flat. Tiny raindrops glistened in his dark hair like caught stars, and his thick wool cardigan—charcoal grey with a black Fair Isle pattern across the chest—was damp enough that I could see where the drizzle had soaked through the shoulders and cuffs.

I was probably grimacing at him. But what a bizarre situation—Kit Thorne on my doorstep.

“Come in,” I eventually squeaked.

Kit stepped inside and started unlacing his boots.

Usually, I’d appreciate the consideration, but on this occasion, it only sent me into a spiral. I’d hoped Kit would go straight to the bus stop to investigate, rather than lingering in my flat.

“Oh, please don’t do that,” I told him. “There’s no need.”

I led him into the tiny living space, where the secondhand sofa claimed fifty percent of the square footage.

Kit turned three hundred and sixty degrees. “Your flat is… nice.”

I snorted. “Don’t lie. It’s all I could afford.”

“Really?” He ran a hand through his beard—trimmed shorter than usual, I noticed. Short enough that I could see the little cleft in his chin I’d somehow missed until now. “You know, in that case, I’m not sure Seb’s paying you enough. I’ll talk to him.”

Oh God, no. A horrible image surfaced of me being called to Seb’s office to discuss why I was moaning about my salary. “No! Please don’t.”