Page 100 of Found by the Pack
She doesn’t answer right away. Her thumb hovers over the screen, trembling slightly. Then she turns it toward me.
The video plays on a loop. It’s grainy, shot from someone’s phone in the square earlier today—Sadie at the unveiling, bouquet in her arms, laughter breaking from her lips at something Jake said. She looks radiant. Alive.
And under it, the message.
Found you!
The number above is unregistered. No name. Just those words.
Her voice cracks when she finally speaks. “I blocked him. I blocked Scott. But he must’ve”—she swallows hard, shaking her head—“he must’ve found another number. Or—fuck.” She presses her palms to her eyes. “How could I have forgotten? I let them take videos of me. The media. The town. Of course he’d see them. Of course he’d?—”
“How the hell?”
“I don’t know.” Her breath hitches, ragged. She looks like she’s seconds from unraveling right here in this cozy cocoa shop with whipped cream on the table and sunlight spilling through the glass.
I move without thinking. I slide the phone from her shaking hand and lock it, set it face down on the table. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”
Her eyes lift, glassy and desperate.
“We’ll sort this out,” I tell her, calm but firm. “Not here. Not like this. But we will. You’re safe.”
She nods, barely, but her shoulders are trembling. The cocoa she clung to so tightly minutes ago now sits abandoned, the cream sinking into the dark surface.
I drop a twenty on the table, more than enough to cover the drinks and bagels, and catch Maren’s eye. She tilts her head, understanding in her gaze, and doesn’t say a word as I guide Sadie out.
Outside, the wind is sharp, carrying the salt of the ocean. Sadie hugs her arms to herself, bouquet still clutched like it’s the only shield she’s got left.
“Keys,” I murmur, unlocking my car. “Come on.”
She doesn’t argue. She slides into the passenger seat, curling into herself as if she could make her body smaller, invisible. I get behind the wheel, start the engine, and drive without thinking twice about where.
My place.
It’s the only option.
As the roads blur past—the bookstore, the diner, the little antique shop with its cluttered windows—memories flicker. Scott.
His name carries weight even for me, though I’ve only heard fragments.
The ex who broke her down. The man who turned her into something brittle, who cut her down until she could barely stand. The one she fled Memphis to escape.
And now, he’s reaching out again. Through numbers, through videos, through shadows.
Anger twists in my gut, hot and steady.
By the time we pull into my apartment complex, Gus is already scratching at the window, his golden head bobbing up when he sees my car. The building itself is plain brick, nothing fancy, but it’s home. A safe place.
Sadie doesn’t move right away when I kill the engine. She just stares at her hands, knuckles white around the bouquet stems.
“Come on,” I say gently, opening my door. “Inside.”
She follows me up the short flight of stairs. I unlock the door, push it open, and Gus barrels toward us, tail wagging hard enough to thump against the walls. Normally, I’d scold him for the enthusiasm, but today I just let him.
Sadie kneels automatically, fingers sinking into Gus’s fur, and for the first time since that message, she breathes. Really breathes. I watch her shoulders loosen as Gus leans his weight against her.
I give them a minute, then pull my phone from my pocket and step toward the kitchen. My fingers hover over Boone’s contact.
When he answers, his voice is clipped, background noise of sirens fading. “Shep? I’m still at the scene?—”
