Page 42 of Doyle

I pushed the door open and stepped inside, locking it behind me. The familiar smell of oil and metal filled my nostrils, grounding me.

I took a deep breath and pulled out my phone. I couldn't avoid Doyle forever. His message was short, asking if I was okay.

I typed a quick response: “I'm fine. Just needed some space. Hope you're well.”

Hitting send, I slipped the phone back into my pocket and got to work.

The sound of tools and the hum of machinery were a welcome distraction.

But even as I tried to focus, the thought of Liliana’s letter lingered in the back of my mind.

Nothing had happened since the letter was delivered, but I couldn’t let my guard down.

The morning had been going smoothly until the door chimed, signaling the entrance of a customer.

I looked up from the paperwork to see a tall, unhappy muscular man. His yellow eyes were narrowed in anger—a shifter alpha, my fox warned me.

Stan had just stepped out for a smoke, leaving me to handle the shop alone.

“Can I help you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I need my car fixed. Now,” he barked.

“We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment. If you could leave your keys and contact info, we’ll get to it as soon as we can,” I replied, maintaining a polite tone.

He shook his head. “That’s not good enough. I need it done now,” he said.

The tension in his voice made my heart race. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm.

“I understand your urgency, but we’re doing the best we can,” I said.

“Your best isn’t good enough!” he shouted, slamming his fist on the counter.

The noise echoed through the empty shop, making me flinch. Panic started to creep in, and my chest tightened.

Memories of Liliana’s people shouting and hurling obscenities at me when a spell didn’t work rushed back, unbidden and overwhelming.

I tried to push them away, focusing on the here and now, but the alpha’s aggressive posture and loud voice made it impossible.

He stepped closer, invading my personal space. “I said I need it done now!”

That was the breaking point. My vision blurred, and my breathing became erratic.

I felt trapped, just like before. My inner fox curled inside me.

Without thinking, I turned and ran, bolting into the back office and hiding under my desk, curling into a ball.

The sound of the shop door opening and Stan’s heavy footsteps reached me faintly.

“What’s going on here?” Stan’s voice was firm.

“Your boy ran off. I need my car fixed,” the shifter growled.

Stan’s tone hardened. “You need to calm down and step outside. Now,” Stan said.

I rocked back and forth, trying to steady my breathing. Stan’s voice grew muffled, distant, as if coming from underwater.

My mind was a whirlwind of fear and confusion. Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours. I had no sense of time.

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