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“They’re coming!” the woman next to him says. She points upward, and I realize I can hear the wailing of sirens.

“See? They’re on their way,” the man reassures me.

“No, there’s one inside.”

The man frowns.

“I know him.”

Now he looks concerned, like I’m losing it. “Miss, you’re not going to help anyone by going back in there and putting yourself in danger.”

He’s right, but not in the way he thinks. Still, I look yearningly at the door. There are other staff there now, standing in front of it.

Still no sign of anyone coming down the stairs inside.

Before the miracle of gel nails, I was a nail biter. I still have the habit of bringing my nails to my mouth when I’m nervous. I do that now, tapping my nails on my bottom lip.

“Griff seems like the kind of guy who can handle himself, right? He got his hands on a firefighter outfit.”

The server frowns.

I’m not helping my case for looking sane, but I can’t stop. “He knew where I was. How did he know—”

I turn and look up into the window of the upstairs sushi restaurant across the street. There’s a crowd of people standing there, staring down at us.

I remember that flash of movement.

“He was there.”

The firetruck pulls up then, and firefighters jump off the truck in quick succession.

“Everyone back, please!” they bark.

I’m ushered back with the rest of the crowd.

“Is there anyone inside?” one of them shouts.

“Yes!” I shout. “Yes, there’s a man inside—” Men. But only one they need to help. I’m about to tell them to be careful, that the other two could be dangerous, but they’re already rushing inside.

Suddenly, I’m more terrified than I was upstairs.

What if something happens to these firefighters?

To Griffin?

There’s something unfairly awful about people getting hurt while trying to help.

I can’t let Griffin get hurt because of me. Or these firefighters.

I ignore the voice that says they know what they’re doing and step sideways, seeing if there’s a way I can get through the crowd somewhere less central. But as I do, I catch a glimpse of something down the street.

Vincent and his man, slipping into a car. They must have gone out a rear exit.

Even from here, I can see his jaw is red with blood. Is there more than there was before?

“Griffin,” I whisper, panicked.

“Right here,” a low voice growls.