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“That’s not an answer, and you know it. Why is everyone keeping things from me?”

My anger is more about Nick than Marthe, but I can’t help it. He said he’d tell me everything tonight, but part of me doesn’t truly believe I’m going to get answers that mean anything.

“I know you’re frustrated, Ellery, but living in this town means protecting everyone in it.” She shuts the freezer and leans against it. “My son cares about you a great deal. That makes you one of us, whether you understand what that means or not. Can you be patient with him?” She picks up a dish towel and folds it. “With us?”

“Is he in trouble?”

“Nick can take care of himself. Just let him explain things in his own way.” There’s sympathy there, but I’m not sure if it’s for me or him, or both of us. “I’ll finish up here. Why don’t you head upstairs?”

Money. That has to be it. He owes shady people money, and I’m the one sitting in his van practically every night.

She grabs my tote from the staff cubby, presses it into my arms, and ushers me out the back door. Then stands there until I get inside my apartment.

I put the kettle on the stove, open the fridge, and slam the milk carton on the counter, all the while having arguments with Nick and Marthe in my head.

A dribble hits the bottom of my mug.

No milk.

And I’m still wearing my apron.

And my peacoat is hanging on the rack down in the cafe.

Great.

Nick told me to stay inside. Marthe told me to listen to Nick. Roslyn wanted him to walk me half a block.

Not one of them has offered a single, sound reason.

Until I’m presented with actual evidence, I’m buying milk.

At six fifteen.

Like a person.

If this turns out to be stupid, I’d like it noted that at least it’s the first stupid thing I’ve decided on my own.

Warm in the coat Nick got me, I wander through the aisles of the grocery store, absentmindedly tossing items into my basket. It’s as derelict as the cafe. The guy at the register is the only person here.

At the checkout, I dump my assortment on the conveyor belt and reach for a Baby Ruth, think twice, and toss three more on top of my groceries.

Among my haul is a family-size pack of dino nuggets, a tub of mint chip, a bag of jumbo marshmallows bigger than my oversized tote, a box of tampons, a single grapefruit, and milk.

I don’t have the cognitive bandwidth to spend another second making decisions. I’m sure I can fashion a meal out of this motley crew before I head over to Nick’s.

As soon as I leave, the grocery store guy brings the shutters down, and the grinding noise carries down the vacant street. Halfway up the alley, I stop to shift the bag to my other arm. An echo of footsteps half a second after mine. I don’t turn around. That deep part of my brain devoted to survival wakes up, and I walk faster.

Before I reach the stairs to my apartment, a figure in a hoodie appears up ahead, face shrouded in the dark, the streetlight catching the edges of him. He stands there like a troll guarding a bridge. My feet slow, a warning siren goes off in my chest. He takes one step forward, then another, his pace picking up with each long stride.

I’d rather be embarrassed than right. I take a couple of steps backward, turn around, and start walking very fast toward the grocery store.

Shit. It’s closed.

Nick’s house. I hope he’s home.

The damp pavement shines under the streetlights, and I hear the clack of his boots getting closer. When I look, the guy is near enough that I can see his face. Pale and young. His dark hoodie is stained with something darker still.

An unearthly snarl cuts through the bitter night air, unlike anything I’ve ever heard before.