Shirley
The morning air felt heavier than usual as I made my way down the familiar path toward the bar. The sun was only half-awake, painting streaks of pale gold across the horizon, but something in my chest was unsettled—like the world was holding its breath. My boots clicked against the cracked pavement, steady and sure, even though my stomach was twisted in knots.
I’d barely rounded the corner when I saw him.
Asher.
He was standing there like he’d been waiting for me, leaning against a lamppost with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. But there was no easy smirk today, no smooth charm. His posture was tight, his jaw clenched, and when his eyes met mine, they flickered like he was at war with himself.
I stopped a few feet away, my pulse picking up. “What the hell do you want,
