Page 34

Outside.

I nod once. No need to talk. After so many shows, I know her rhythm. After she plays, she needs a moment to breathe and decompress. She gives so much it drains her. I get that, so I wait like I always have.

The May air is cool and a little damp from an earlier shower. The pavement glistens under the soft glare of the streetlight, rain beads on car windows like tiny diamonds. I stand five yards from the entrance watching the street. Breathing in the night air and the smell of wet concrete as people spill out, buzzing from the show. Their voices are low and reverent.

“She should be playing Madison Square Garden.”

“Hell, she’d sell it out in an hour.”

A bittersweet pride fills my chest. Iknowshe’s that good, but she stopped chasing that dream. Settled for less. Not because she couldn’t make it, but because life beat the fight out of her somewhere along the way. And that... that still hurts to think about. A voice cuts through my thoughts, smoky and sharp.

“Whatever you’re thinking, it must beveryimportant. You’ve been hypnotized by that streetlight for a solid minute.”

I whip around, grinning at Erica.

“Hey. You crushed it tonight. I mean, wow. You were fire.”

She shrugs, cringing slightly.

“Eh. I’ve had better nights,” she says, but the smirk says otherwise. She nods toward the parking lot. “Come on, I need air—and answers.”

“Lead the way.” I fall into step beside her. “So… you’ll never guess who showed up outside my building on Sunday.”

She doesn’t even blink before responding.

“Ray.”

I stop in my tracks.

“Wait—what?”

She lifts a brow. “Don’t play dumb, Red. Monica told me. He spent the night, didn’t he? My God, it’s been two days! Why haven’t you said anything? I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to call!”

“How doesMonicaknow?”

“Funny story.” She sighs as headlights slice across our path. “He went to the clinic yesterday,” she says, glancing over. “Didn’t tell you, huh?”

I shake my head slowly, a strange hollowness opening up inside me.

“No. He didn’t. I noticed he didn’t want to believe it. He kept pushing me about losing my mom. It was like he thought he could rewrite reality.”

“Shifters don’t deal well with deaths they can’t fight,” she murmurs. “To them, people die in war, by accident, or from heartbreak. Anything else? They just… don’t know what todowith it.”

I nod, tightening my fingers around my keys. The parking lot’s almost empty. Erica’s red BMW and my Jeep are all that are left.

“Looks like we’re the last ones.”

“Red…” Her voice has lost its edge. “We’ve got company.”

Her hand clamps onto my arm, and I follow her gaze. Eyes. Yellow. Glowing in the dark. One set just beyond Erica’s car. Another—low and watching—catches the bumper of my Jeep.

My stomach drops. My breath stutters.

This isn’t the Crawfords. They wouldn’t shift in the open. Especially not in New York. This—whoeverthisis—it’s not them. My breath catches and I feel my pulse in my throat.

“What do we do?” I whisper.

“You run,” she says, her tone steel. “I’ll keep them busy.”