Page 229 of Let Me In

“He’s already on his way,” I say, tapping out the message. “The man I trust to protect what’s mine when I’m not here. We call him the Watcher.”

Send.

“Someone I don’t know?” she whispers. Her voice is small. Uneasy.

“You won’t see him. You won’t need to. But if anything happens—anything—he’ll be there.”

Her breath wavers. I guide her hand to my chest.

“You’re safe, little one,” I promise. “The dogs stay. The house is locked. And I’ll be back within an hour.”

I stay close, letting the silence stretch. Letting her feel me. Letting her hold onto what’s real.

But when I lean in, voice low and dark in her ear, there’s no gentleness left.

“There’s a line,” I murmur. “And he crossed it. He’s touched too much, taken too much, and now he’s going to learn what happens when something that belongs tomegets threatened.”

I pause, let her breath stutter.

“Because when I get back,” I whisper, each word sharper than the last, “you’re not leaving this house until you know who you belong to. Until youfeelit everywhere I put my hands.”

She shivers.

And I leave her with a kiss to the crown of her head.

Because he dared to touch her peace.

And I’m going to tear that mistake straight from his fucking hands.

My truck tirescrunch slow across the gravel.

I don’t rush.

Not because I’m calm. Because the fury coiled inside me is too tight, too sharp, to spend on haste.

He’s already out front, arms crossed like he’s got a spine worth showing off. He doesn’t say a word, but I can see it in the way his shoulders pull back—that puffed-up posture that only works on people smaller than him.

I ignore it. Step down from the truck without a word and walk toward the garage, where the bike sits like an afterthought.

But it isn't.

It's Emmy's.

Her first freedom. Her escape. Her damn lifeline.

He doesn’t speak at first.

Smart. If only barely.

I crouch beside the bike. Run my hand down the frame like I’m checking for damage, but I’m not. I’m imagining what it looked like when he dragged it out. When he listed it like it was his to give away.

I hear him approach, but I don’t acknowledge him.

“You here for that thing?”

That thing.

My fists clench so tight my knuckles crack.

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