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While she refills coffee cups and checks on customers, I peer through the front window.

The black SUV remains parked across the street. The reminder that I can't go anywhere without security sends a fresh wave of frustration through me. At first, the protection felt reassuring. Then it became inconvenient. Now it feels impossible to escape. They're outside the mansion. Outside the shelter. Outside the diner. Everywhere I go, somebody is watching.

I understand why. That doesn't mean I enjoy it.

Mama follows my gaze toward the window before sliding into the booth across from me.

“Still botherin’ you?”

“A little.”

“A little?”

I pick at a piece of toast. “Maybe more than a little.”

Her expression grows thoughtful. “You know why they're there.”

“I do.”

“You'd rather they weren't?”

I look back toward the SUV. “Sometimes I just want five minutes where nobody's watchin’ me.”

“He’s keepin’ you safe.” Mama reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “You'll get through this.”

I wish I believed that as much as she does. I gather the mountain of food she insists on sending with me, hug her goodbye, and head toward the shelter.

The building looks different the moment I arrive. New locks gleam on the doors, security cameras monitor every angle, and additional lighting brightens areas that once sat in shadow. The shelter survived, but the attack left scars behind.

Volunteers move through the lobby carrying supplies and paperwork. A few smile when they see me. Others still look shaken. No one has completely recovered from what happened.

Luka follows me inside while two additional security men remain near the entrance. More reminders that my life has become completely abnormal.

Jules appears from the hallway carrying a clipboard and a cup of iced coffee.

“Well look who finally decided to grace us with her presence.”

I point toward him. “I own this place.”

“Technical detail.”

I huff out a laugh. The sound feels good.

Jules pulls me into a quick hug before stepping back. His eyes search my face. “Honey, you look terrible.”

“Seems like everybody’s singin’ the same tune today.”

“Good. At least they’re bein’ honest.” He takes a sip from his straw.

The morning disappears beneath work. The world stubbornly refuses to stop simply because we're overwhelmed. Part of me appreciates that. Another part wishes everything would slow down long enough for me to catch my breath.

By late morning, I'm helping reorganize supply shelves when another wave of nausea rolls through me. This one hits harder than the others. I grab the edge of the metal shelving unit and close my eyes. The room doesn't spin, but my stomach definitely seems tempted to try. I take several slow breaths, counting to ten and then twenty while I wait for the feeling to pass.

When I finally open my eyes, Jules is standing nearby watching me with his arms folded across his chest.

Well, that can't be good.

He immediately narrows his eyes. “You're sick.”