Page 24 of Boulder's Weight

That was my agreement with Tara—stay close to the club.

I take a deep breath, grounding myself.

I'm being paranoid.

The odds of Python knowing my real identity is slim to none.

I force myself to focus on work, on the comforting routine of taking orders, making drinks, answering questions about the cats.

It's almost enough to make me forget the constant knot of fear in my stomach.

Almost.

During a bathroom break, I check my burner phone out of habit.

The screen shows one new message, and my blood runs cold.

Unknown Number:

We know you left the state.

It'sthem.

It has to be.

I know it's Benji or Craig.

The sick feeling in my stomach intensifies, and I grip the edge of the sink to steady myself.

They know I'm not in Montana anymore.

How?

Did they know someone at the phone store?

My breath comes in short gasps, the edges of my vision darkening.

I recognize the signs of an oncoming panic attack and force myself to breathe—in for four counts, hold for seven, out for eight.

A technique I learned after the first time I found out what my family really was.

After several minutes, I've calmed down enough to think rationally.

They know I've left the state, but that doesn't mean they know I've left the country.

I'm still safe, still ahead of them.

I have to be.

I splash water on my face, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

The woman looking back at me seems like a stranger sometimes—eyes too old for her face, shoulders permanently tensed for impact.

"You've got this," I whisper to myself. "You've survived worse. Much worse."

When I return to the café floor, I immediately notice a change in the atmosphere.

Astra's body language has shifted—more relaxed, more open.

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