Isabella’s POV
The man across the street didn’t follow me.
He just watched—head tilted, phone to his ear—like he’d been waiting for me. Or for something I didn’t yet understand. I turned the corner and forced myself not to run. My steps were steady, but inside, everything was shaking.
Who was he calling?
Who was he reporting to?
The back of my neck prickled as I rounded the block and ducked into a bookstore two doors down. I weaved between dusty shelves until I reached the back, crouched near the travel section, and waited. My fingers gripped the spine of a book without registering the title. Minutes ticked by. No one came.
Eventually, I left through the alley.
Paranoia clung to me all the way home.
When I stepped into Mia’s apartment, the scent of toasted bagels and cinnamon drift
