Keira
"Ryder, what's wrong?"
"Damien's at the café." His voice was clipped, moving fast, like he was already walking somewhere with purpose. "Your mom's café. He showed up twenty minutes ago with a camera crew, saying something about supporting local business. Someone tagged me in a livestream."
My stomach dropped straight through the floor of my car. "What is he doing at my mom's café?"
"I don't know. But it doesn't look good. There's already a crowd outside."
I didn't remember most of the drive over, just the blur of streetlights and the tight, panicked knot sitting behind my ribs the entire way. By the time I pulled up outside, the small strip of sidewalk in front of my mother's café was packed tighter than I'd ever seen it, a cluster of onlookers with their phones raised, a camera
