Page 31 of Tempest’s Torment

I close my eyes, but the image comes back anyway: the black SUV pulling away, not before I saw it, but the second I looked at it, like whoever was inside knew I'd spotted them.

A shiver works its way down my spine. I throw the covers back because lying here isn't going to change anything.

I drag myself out of bed and pad barefoot through the apartment. I check the door; the deadbolt's still locked, and the chain's still across the door, but I test the handle anyway. It doesn't move.

The windows are still locked too. I check them because I always do—at this point, it’s a compulsion—then I glance into the bathroom, pulling the shower curtain back before dropping to my knees to look under the bed. Empty.

I fill the coffee maker with water, scoop fresh grounds into the filter, and hit the switch. While it brews, I stand at the kitchen window with my arms folded across my chest.

The bakery truck is making its usual delivery. Mrs. Donnelly from the second floor is walking her golden retriever.

Everything looks exactly the way it should. No black SUV. Some of the tightness in my chest eases, but not all of it. The coffee finishes brewing. I pour myself a mug and force down half a bagel; it's all I can manage.

I rinse my mug and go through the same routine I do every morning. I get dressed in a long sleeve top, jeans, and sneakers. I grab my bag from the hook by the door and make sure I have everything: keys, my wallet, cellphone, and pepper spray tucked into the front pocket where I can reach it in seconds if needed.

Only then do I look through the peephole. Seeing that the hallway is empty, I let out a slow breath and unlock the door.

He's here.

Tempest's locking his apartment, keys in one hand and leather cut already on. The click of my door makes him glance over his shoulder. We both pause for a second. I watch as his gaze scans me, working over my body before returning to my face.

"Morning," he greets with a slight nod.

"Morning,” I reply as I lock my door and test the handle. Once, then twice, before I catch myself doing it a third time. "Sorry," I mumble.

He frowns. "For what?"

I shrug. "I don't know."

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he's trying not to smile. He definitely knows what I’m apologizing for; the man is like a hawk. I’ve seen the way he catches everything, the way he quickly assesses the room, or area; he would have definitely seen me checking the door, twice.

We head toward the stairs together without saying anything else. It's only when we're halfway down that I realize neither of us made the effort to let the other go first. We just... ended up walking together.

His boots hit each step with a steady rhythm, whereas mine are quieter. At the bottom, he reaches the front door first and holds it open for me.

"Thanks," I say softly. I can feel my cheeks heat. I don’t know why I feel so embarrassed.

"No problem," he grunts.

The morning air is cool enough that I pull my jacket a little tighter around me.

"How'd you sleep?" he asks as we step outside.

"Fine," I reply, the lie hanging between us.

Thankfully, he doesn't call me on it. He just nods, and for some reason, I'm grateful.

He looks up and down the street, like he's checking something. I follow his gaze before I can stop myself. Nothing. No black SUV, no parked cars with blacked-out windows.

"You okay?" he asks.

I nod. "Long day yesterday."

"It was." He walks over to his motorcycle and pulls his helmet on, and I start toward the sidewalk. "Have a good day, Lilah," he says, his voice thick and raspy.

"You too."

The engine rumbles to life behind me. I don't look back, just keep walking until the sound fades into the morning traffic. Only then do I realize I'd been listening for it.