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“Sash!” Griff is yelling, his voice tinny from my phone. I bring it up to my ear again.

“I’m here! I’m outside!” My bare feet slap against the asphalt.

He says something I can’t hear, that maybe wasn’t meant for me, then clearly into the phone, “Get out of sight! I’m close now, five blocks.”

I round the corner onto the street. There’s a cab, but its light isn’t on. I race for it anyway, but it’s too fast. It disappears around the next corner. “No free cabs!” My voice is panicky now.

“Is there a shop nearby you can get into?”

I scan the street wildly. There’s a dollar store on the corner. “Yes.” I run. My foot lands on something sharp, and I cry out.

“Sasha!”

“I’m fine!” I keep going, only limping a little, shaking out whatever it was. I don’t think I’m cut.

“Don’t run when you get inside the store.”

I hurl myself up to the door but force myself to open the door calmly. I step inside, breathing slowly even as I’m desperate to catch my breath.

It’s an off-brand dollar store, the kind where nothing is remotely close to a dollar. The shelves are lined with cheap trinkets and plastic dinnerware. I smile at the woman behind the counter, but she doesn’t look up. She’s leaning back in her bar-stool chair. A laugh track sounds.

I don’t waste a second, just walk calmly but quickly toward the back of the shop. I glance back at the woman, but I can’t even see her from here.

I slip into the dingy hallway at the back. There’s a closed door on one side and another across from it. The one door is ajar. There’s a man on a computer in there, his face angled slightly away from me. I slip past, silent on my bare feet, and pull open the back door.

It clicks shut behind me a moment before I wonder if I should have propped it open.

What if the guy runs back here? To my left, the alley opens up onto a busy street. I don’t even know which one it is. I tuck myself around the other side of the dumpster next to me so I’m not visible from the street. The other end of the alley ends on a quieter side street.

“I’m in the back,” I whisper. It’s dingy and smells like trash. There’s a stained mattress propped up against the opposite wall.

I describe my location when Griffin asks, and he makes a small sound of affirmation.

Then, because I think I might pass out, I lower the phone, pressing it against my chest. I lean against the wall, my hair snagging on the brick. I close my eyes and see, out of nowhere, the trees in Vermont.

I was so jumpy at Eli and Reese’s wedding—it was right after that paparazzo had gotten into my building. But it wasn’t fear like I feel now. It was just nerves. Concern that the media was going to catch me out, and then what if I said something that hurt Sam?

I blink my eyes open. God, how could I have cared so much about protecting him?

Bitter tears blur my vision. I close my eyes again, picturing the twirling of the leaves on that walk to the wedding site. The dappled sunlight, the way the sun shone down and warmed my skin. The quiet peacefulness of the day with the murmur of the wedding still in the distance.

I was worried, but I was safe. That place—some version of that place—that’s where I want to be. Away from the snapping cameras and gold-toothed criminals. Away from my family, whose minds I’m never on anyway.

A door slams open somewhere farther down the alley, making me jump.

A man with a garbage bag comes out. He does a double take when he sees me. “Miss?”

My heart thumps. But just then, a roaring engine sounds, a motorcycle skidding around the corner. It comes to a hard stop in front of me.

Griffin flips his visor open, his eyes meeting mine.

Relief crashes through me, and the tears spill like a waterfall. I sob. “Griff—Griffin—”

Griffin takes my hand, pulling me to him. “It’s okay, Sasha. You’re okay.”

I want to melt into him—I try to, but he’s gently urging me around behind him. “We can’t stay here.” He reaches for the helmet strapped there, expertly flipping the strap open with his fingers and handing it to me.

I nod, my words gone now, and take it from him, pulling it over my head.