Page 4 of The Watcher's Bride

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The second my shift is over, I grab my bag and coat and race out without stopping to chat with Mike like I normally would.

“Bye, have a good weekend!” I call out over my shoulder as I head for the exit, ignoring the wounded expression on his face.

I’m vaguely surprised to notice that the man Mike went to help earlier is still there, sitting in my new favorite spot with his face obscured by the book he’s reading,The Invisible Manby H.G. Wells.

Not what I expected from a man whose hands and neck are heavily tattooed. I quickly admonish myself for doing the exact thing I accused Mike of doing, judging someone based on their appearance.

Any other time I’d have considered stopping to chat about the book. I love classic gothic horrors, and the unexpectedness of such a large, muscled man absorbed in reading is enough to intrigue me. But I don’t have much time to get home and change before I meet Nadya, so I head out and the stranger is soon forgotten.

As it so often is, my apartment is cold and dark when I get home. I flick on the light, which strobes a few times beforesettling. Despite having lived here for five years it still doesn’t feel like a home. I’ve tried to make it as homey as possible with books and artwork, yet I can never seem to rid the place of the slightly musty smell that lingers no matter how many scented candles I light.

My cat, Josef, stretches and jumps down from his spot on the top of the fridge, winding himself around my ankles and whining plaintively, demanding food.

Shit. I was supposed to buy him some cat food on my way home.

“Sorry, Josef, I completely forgot. Maybe we’ve got a can of sardines or something,” I say as I walk into the kitchen.

Josef is a former stray that followed me home often enough that I finally relented and let him move in, so he’s not overly fussy about what he’s fed as long as he eats. Although he does have an aversion to dry kibble. I keep telling myself to order his food in bulk so this doesn’t keep happening, but despite the ‘BUY CAT FOOD!’ sticky note that permanently sits on the refrigerator, I always seem to run out.

My pantry is bare, and I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t give a cat ramen. As a last-ditch effort, I open the cupboard under the sink where I keep his food, hoping to find a forgotten can in the back. To my surprise, the cupboard is stocked full of Josef’s favorite food, seafood Fancy Feast.

“Huh, guess I must have gotten it and forgot,” I say, opening up a can and dumping it in his bowl.

If I ever bothered to keep my receipts or used a credit card—I get paid in cash and don’t have a card to my name—I couldcheck when I got it. It’s annoying I can’t seem to recall getting the food, but the proof is right there.

Josef mews in agreement, happily digging in. I stroke his fur, pleased to note there’s only one remaining bald patch that stubbornly refuses to grow. He looks completely different compared to five years ago.

With Josef satisfied, I take a quick shower and get dressed. I opt for a pair of jeans and a chunky oversized sweater that hangs off the shoulder. Knowing Nadya will scold me for not making an effort, I put on some makeup and blow out my short hair to give it extra volume. My father always made me wear my auburn hair long and refused to allow me to dye it, so that was the first thing I changed when I moved here. I cut it off to just below the chin and got honey-blonde highlights. Nadya keeps trying to convince me to dye it a crazy color or bring out the vibrant red, but my goal is to blend in, not stand out. I throw on a pair of heeled boots, grab my purse and trusty leather jacket, and head out.

“Don’t wait up, Josef!” I call out to the only man I’ll ever have to say that to.

Chapter 4

Leo

Ishouldn’t have followed her.

I shouldn’t have spoken to her.

But something made me. Something deeper than orders, deeper than loyalty to my uncle. Curiosity, maybe. Or instinct.

She’s not what I expected.

Short honey-blonde hair, all soft waves and subtle gold. Thin. A little too thin. Wears oversized sweaters like armor. Always hugging herself, like she’s holding in more than just the cold. Studious, quiet. Hides in corners of the library like she wants to disappear.

Not a trace of her father in her and thank fuck for that.

She doesn’t dress like someone trying to catch attention. Doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t even notice when men look at her—like Mike, the idiot coworker practically panting after her like a kicked dog. She’s polite but distant. Self-contained. Controlled.

But she cracked, a little, when she saw me. Fear in her eyes. Sharp and instinctual. Sheknowsdanger when she sees it.

I’m not proud of what I’ve done. Not even sure when the line blurred.

At first, it was surveillance. I watched. Catalogued her habits. She always stops at the same grocery store after work,always takes the long way home unless it’s raining. She double-checks every door she locks, twice. Sometimes three times.

She lives like someone who’s afraid to be found.

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