Page 14

Grace

The office at Theo's security company is quiet this afternoon, just the soft clicking of keyboards and occasional murmur of conversation.

I adjust my chair, focusing on the patrol schedule spreadsheet in front of me.

My fingers move steadily across the keyboard as I update route assignments, trying to ignore the lingering anxiety from this morning's school drop-off.

It's been five hours since I left Willow at the elementary school. Five hours, seventeen minutes. Not that I'm counting.

I reach for my coffee mug, grimacing when I find it empty.

The job keeps me busy enough that I can almost—almost—stop worrying about Willow for minutes at a time.

Working for Theo has been surprisingly good for me.

The administrative side of supernatural security means I'm contributing to the safety of Whispering Pines without putting myself in danger, and the steady paycheck means I can finally provide for Willow without constantly looking over my shoulder.

Or at least, that's what I keep telling myself.

I'm reviewing supply requests for the northern patrol teams when a sharp electronic tone cuts through the office. My head snaps up, along with everyone else's, as the overhead monitors flash with a red alert banner.

"Hunter Activity Confirmed: Peripheral Movement, Northern Ridge Trail. Contained. Security Mobilized."

The air punches out of my lungs. My vision narrows to pinpricks of light against encroaching darkness. I can't breathe. I can't think. I'm back there—blood on the floor, Willow screaming, glass shattering as hunters break through windows—before I even realize I'm standing.

The coffee mug slips from my suddenly numb fingers, clattering against the desk but miraculously not breaking. The sound seems distant, underwater, like I'm hearing it through layers of cotton.

Hunters.

I thought we were safe here. For seven days, I've let myself believe the lie.

Seven days of routine, of Willow laughing and playing, of me coming to work without constantly checking over my shoulder.

Seven days of lowering my guard, inch by excruciating inch.

And now this—proof that nowhere is truly safe.

That the moment I dare to breathe, hunters show up again.

My chest constricts painfully, each heartbeat slamming against my ribs with such force I'm certain they'll crack. Sweat breaks out across my forehead, cold and clammy. The fluorescent lights overhead suddenly seem too bright, too harsh.

They found us.

My chair scrapes back as I stand, hands already grabbing for my bag, movements automatic, programmed by years of running.

I need to get to Willow. Now. I need to get her out, away, somewhere they can't find us.

We were fools to think we could stay, could build something here.

Safety is an illusion. It always has been.

"Grace?" Someone calls my name, but their voice seems to come from miles away, distorted and meaningless.

I'm already moving toward the door, my heartbeat a deafening roar in my ears. My vision tunnels, narrowing to a single point: get to Willow, get in the car, get out of Whispering Pines before—

The door swings open just as I reach for the handle, and suddenly Eli is there, filling the doorway. He's holding two paper bags, the logo of the local deli stamped on the side. His easy smile falters as he takes in my expression, the wild look in my eyes.

"Grace?" The bags lower to his side. "What's wrong?"

"I have to go," I choke out, already fumbling to push past him. "They found us. They found her. I can't—I have to get to Willow." My voice is too high, too thin. I'm not here. I'm somewhere else. Somewhere much darker.

His hands come up to gently grip my shoulders, steadying me. The warmth of his touch cuts through the fog, anchoring me to the present when everything in me wants to flee.

"Breathe, Grace," he says, his voice low and steady. "Just breathe for a second."

I try to pull away, panic clawing up my throat. "You don't understand," I say, my voice rising. "I have to get to her. They're back, Eli. Hunters. I can't—we can't—"

"Willow is safe," he says, his voice calm but firm. His hazel eyes lock with mine, refusing to let me look away. "I promise you. But let's talk to Theo first, okay? He'll have the details."

I want to argue, want to shove past him and run straight to the school, but something in his steady gaze anchors me.

The rational part of my brain—the part not hijacked by fear and memory—knows he's right.

But my body hasn't caught up yet. My hands still tremble.

My heart still races. Every instinct screams at me to run, to grab Willow and disappear.

"Thirty seconds," I manage, the words coming out in short, staccato bursts. "Then I'm going to her."

Eli nods, setting the lunch bags on a nearby desk.

His hand moves to the small of my back, not restraining, just guiding as we walk toward the operations room.

The warmth of his palm seeps through my shirt, a steady point of contact that keeps me from spiraling completely.

I'm hyper-aware of his touch, of how solid he feels beside me when everything else seems to be fragmenting.

The operations room is a hub of controlled activity. Monitors line the walls, displaying maps of Whispering Pines and the surrounding forests. Blue dots indicate patrol teams, moving in coordinated patterns. A single red marker pulses near the northern border.

Theo stands at the center console, his expression focused but not alarmed. He looks up as we enter, his eyes narrowing slightly when he sees my face—pale, drawn, pupils dilated with fear.

"Grace," he acknowledges with a nod. "I'm guessing you saw the alert."

"What's happening?" My voice sounds steadier than I feel, years of practice at hiding fear kicking in. "Are they attacking? How many are there?"

Theo gestures to the map. "One hunter, spotted on the ridge trail about twenty minutes ago. Likely a scout, not an attack force. We've already deployed a response team." He points to a cluster of blue dots moving toward the red marker. "They'll intercept in less than five minutes."

"Just one?" I ask, disbelief coloring my tone. My brain can't process the information. One hunter doesn't make sense. They always traveled in groups, coordinated, ruthless.

"Just one," Theo confirms. "And they're already retreating. Our wards detected them before they got within three miles of town limits."

My hands are still trembling. I clench them into fists, nails biting into my palms. "But what if there are more? What if this is just a distraction?"

"It's possible," Theo concedes, "but unlikely. We've been systematically dismantling hunter cells in this region for the past year. What's left are mostly stragglers—dangerous, but disorganized."

I shake my head, unable to accept his assessment. For five years, hunters have been the monsters under the bed, the shadows in the corner, the reason I can't sleep through the night. They can't just be... diminished.

"But what if they come back?" The words escape before I can stop them, raw with fear. "What if they're watching, waiting for us to let our guard down?"

Theo's expression doesn't change. "They will," he says evenly. "But we're ready."

He gestures to another screen, this one showing a detailed layout of Whispering Pines Elementary.

"The school has triple-layered protection.

Magical wards, physical security, and shifter patrols.

No one gets in or out without clearance.

Ryan's pack has members stationed on the grounds at all times, and Jenna has direct access to our emergency protocols. "

He walks me through the defensive measures, the evacuation plans, the response teams positioned throughout town. It's comprehensive, methodical, and clearly well-established.

"We don't take chances," Theo says, meeting my gaze directly. "But they're not the threat they once were. The hunters who targeted you and Willow specifically? They're gone."

I want to believe him. I want it so badly it hurts. But three years of running doesn't disappear in a few weeks of relative safety.

"I need to see Willow," I whisper, the need to verify her safety with my own eyes overwhelming everything else.

Theo nods, his expression softening slightly. "Take the rest of the day. Be with your sister."

I turn to leave, then pause, looking back at him. "Thank you. For... everything."

He gives me a small, rare smile. "This is what we do, Grace. This is why we're here."

As we walk back through the main office, the adrenaline begins to fade, leaving me hollow and shaky.

Embarrassment creeps in, hot and uncomfortable.

I'd been ready to grab Willow and run—again.

Ready to throw away everything we've built here over a single alert.

Ready to uproot my sister from the first place she's started to feel at home.

"I almost ran," I whisper as we reach the parking lot, ashamed. "I didn't even think—I just felt it. That same burn in my chest, that need to move, to flee. Like the ground was breaking under me."

Eli walks beside me, close enough that our shoulders occasionally brush. "Yeah," he says, his voice gentle. "But this time, you didn't. You listened. You asked for help." His eyes find mine, warm and free of judgment. "That's not weakness, Grace. That's strength."

I look away, unable to bear the weight of his understanding. "It doesn't feel like strength. It feels like I'm still broken."

"Broken doesn't mean weak," he says quietly. "It just means you've survived something that tried to destroy you."

The drive to the school is quiet. Eli doesn't push me to talk, doesn't try to fill the silence with reassurances.

He just drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between us.

After a few minutes, I reach over and place my hand on top of his.

His fingers immediately turn, intertwining with mine.

The simple contact grounds me, reminding me that I'm here, now, not trapped in the past.

We arrive at the school just as the final bell rings. I watch as children pour out of the building, their voices rising in a cheerful cacophony. My eyes scan frantically for Willow, heart still not quite believing she's safe until I see her.

And then I spot her—Willow, bouncing down the steps, her backpack swinging, talking animatedly with another little girl. She looks happy. Normal. Safe. Nothing like the terrified child I spirited away in the middle of the night three years ago.

She spots us and breaks into a run, her face lighting up. "Grace! Eli! You're both here!"

I crouch down as she barrels into me, wrapping my arms around her small frame, breathing in the scent of her hair. She smells like crayons and playground dirt and the strawberry shampoo she insists on using. She smells like childhood. Like safety.

"How was your first day, kiddo?"

"It was amazing!" She pulls back, eyes bright with excitement.

"I made three new friends, and Ms. Cooper says I'm really good at math, and we learned about shifter history, and did you know there's another half-shifter in my class?

Her name is Lily and she can almost shift all the way but sometimes she gets stuck with just ears and a tail and—"

She breaks off, finally noticing my expression. "Are you okay, Grace? You look sad."

I smooth her hair back from her forehead, trying to hide the residual fear. "I'm not sad. I'm just really, really happy to see you."

This seems to satisfy her, and she turns to Eli, launching into another story about recess games and lunch trades. I stand, watching them together—the way he crouches to her level, the animated way she talks with her hands, the genuine interest in his eyes as he listens to every word.

They are my world. Both of them.

The realization hits me with startling clarity.

Somewhere along the way, Eli has become as essential to me as Willow.

The thought should terrify me—I've spent years believing that attachments are dangerous, that loving someone means giving the world a weapon to use against you.

But instead, it fills me with a warm certainty.

As we walk back to the truck, Willow skipping ahead of us, I turn to Eli. The words stick in my throat, almost impossible to say after years of keeping everyone at a distance.

"You were right," I finally manage, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't have to run anymore."

His eyes meet mine, warm and steady. There's no triumph in his expression, just quiet understanding. I help Willow into the backseat, making sure she's buckled in before turning back to Eli.

For a moment, I hesitate. The old fear whispers that this is dangerous, that caring for someone means giving them the power to hurt you. But for once, I don't listen. Instead, I reach for his hand, my fingers trembling slightly as they find his.

"Come home with us?" The question is soft, vulnerable. A leap of faith.

His smile unfolds slowly, lighting his entire face. "Always," he says, squeezing my hand. "For as long as you want me there."