~ Quinn ~
The moment Harley turns the phone toward me, something cold slides down my spine.
Not fear.
Something older than that.
Instinct.
I cross the street in three long strides and take the phone from her hand.
The photo fills the screen.
Harley leaving the club earlier tonight.
Taken from across the road.
Long lens.
Good angle.
Professional.
Which means whoever took it knew exactly what they were doing.
My jaw tightens.
Malik.
Harley watches my face carefully from the window.
“Well,” she says slowly, “that reaction is not comforting.”
I zoom in on the photo.
Street sign.
Reflection in a parked car window.
Small details.
My brain starts mapping locations automatically.
Harley taps the window frame impatiently.
I hand the phone back.
“Get dressed.”
She blinks.
“
