Page 71 of Sacrifice
My hands have been shaking all day, making it nearly impossible to fold clothes or work the register without dropping something.
"You sure you're okay?" Maya asks for the hundredth time. "You've been jumpy as a cat."
"Just tired." The lie tastes bitter.
How do I explain that my best friend's in the hospital because someone wanted to hurt me?
That I've got two prospects outside ready to kill anyone who looks at me wrong?
"Right. That's why the Hells Angels have been window shopping all day."
"They're not Hells Angels."
"Same difference. Leather, motorcycles, general air of menace." She grabs her purse. "Your boyfriend picking you up?"
"He's not—" I stop.
He is, isn't he?
After last night, after this morning, we're something. "Yeah. He should be here soon."
"Good. I like him. Intense, but in a protective way." She pauses at the door. "You need anything, you call me. Day or night."
"Thanks, Maya."
She leaves, and I'm alone with my thoughts.
The shop feels different now—exposed, vulnerable.
Too many windows, too many ways someone could get in.
I never noticed before how flimsy the lock is, how isolated we are after dark.
I finish closing duties on autopilot—counting the register, setting the alarm, turning off the vintage neon sign.
Each task feels monumental when my mind keeps replaying last night.
Elfe's blood. Emil's certainty.
The weight of his gun in his hand as he cleared my apartment.
My phone buzzes.
Emil:
Five minutes out. How you holding up?
Me:
Ready to see Elfe.
Emil:
We'll go straight there. Already cleared it with hospital security since it’s after visiting hours.
Through the window, I see Gorm and Aren straighten, eyes tracking something.
They've been out there all day, switching positions every few hours, always watching.
