Page 22 of Under His Protection

The note on the coffee table feels like a flimsy excuse, a betrayal of my promise to protect her. Cole's campaign is due today—the Maverick watch we've been working on for weeks. It's Spectrum Design Studio, our little world of color and light, a world I need to escape into, if only for a few hours. Besides, the Raven isn't likely to attack in broad daylight in a locked apartment.

Nevertheless, I leave the knife in clear sight for Michelle and check my phone. Why is Alexander not answering? Damn it.

I pull the door shut, the click of the lock a hollow echo in the city’s oppressive heat. A shiver runs down my spine, not from the heat but from the feeling that I’m being watched. My hair prickles on the back of my neck, and I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

My eyes dart to the fire escape, a skeletal ladder clinging to the side of my building. It’s always been there, but now, it looks like a sinister gateway, a route for a predator to slip inside. I glance at the cracked window hinges in the hallway, the rusted metal making my stomach clench. A sense of vulnerability I hadn’t felt before washes over me. I push it away, calling paranoia on my impractical feelings, and run down the stairs. I’m late.

The city feels different this morning. The air crackles with raw energy. But it’s not the city, it’s me. The Raven’s message, the feather, Michelle’s fear— I should go to Harvey, but what will I tell him? That a feather freaked me out?

That a weirdo sent me a text? Will he just chalk it up to some city creep who got my number off a website? Or dismiss me as a target of online harassment?

The coffee I grab from the corner cafe near work is barely lukewarm when I spill it all over a man walking past me on the street, his angry glare making my heart race.

“Watch where you’re going, lady!” he yells, his voice thick with rage. The glint in his eye makes me flinch.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammer, my hands shaking. “I’m so nervous, I just—”

The guy doesn’t even let me finish. He steps closer, his face flushing crimson, his nostrils flaring. “You think you can just walk around like you own the place?” he growls.

My breath catches in my throat. The man moves even closer, his hand clenching into a fist, hovering near my face. “You—young people,” he grunts. He gestures wildly, and I instinctively take a step back.

“Hey!”

A hand slams into the guy’s shoulder, sending him stumbling backward. It’s Cole. His eyes blaze, a warning shot. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he says. He’s standing between me and the guy, a wall of protection.

“Just talking to this—” he spits the word “lady” like a curse, “about her manners.”

Cole squares his shoulders, facing the guy. “She didn’t mean to. Get lost!” The guy scurries off, no match for Cole’s steely gaze.

I get it. I’d avoid a fight with him, too.

Cole turns to me, his expression softening slightly. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just— rattled,” I say, my voice shaky. I stumble, spilling more coffee, this time landing on Cole’s shirt. “Shit!”

I can’t meet his gaze. “Sorry about your shirt,” I whisper, like a deer caught in the headlights.

“It’s just coffee,” he says, his voice nonchalant. He gives a slight shrug, then turns back to the man, who’s still backing away, his anger fading.

I stand there, frozen, my hands still shaking. Cole steps closer, his touch gentle as he places a hand on my arm. He adjusts his tie, smoothing it down with a practiced movement. "Everything needs to be in order," he says, a hint of amusement in his eyes, his gaze lingering on me. “Hey, I’ve got you, Ava,” he says, his words supposed to be calming, but I’m too rattled to register them. My mind is still replaying the scene, how he pushed back the man, the raw power in his stance.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" I ask, my voice a bit breathless.

He shrugs, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Oh, that? It wasn’t really a fight. That being said, I grew up with a brother. He taught me a few things." His gaze drops for a moment, then flickers back to me, "It's funny. He would've hated seeing me do this for you—helping someone. Maybe that's why he's gone. But it's good to be able to—" He trails off, his voice a low murmur.

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a brother,” I say, catching my breath. “Are you close?”

“He passed away some years ago,” he says. The sadness in his eyes differs from the coolness I’ve seen before.

“I’m sorry,” I say, offering a strained smile, but the words feel hollow. It’s hard to imagine Cole, with his sharp edges and his confident facade, ever being vulnerable.

“It was a long time ago,” he says, his gaze settling on the building across the street.

My phone vibrates against my thigh, a tiny tremor that sets my nerves on edge. I yank it from my pocket, my fingers fumbling with the lock. It’s a message from an unknown number. I stare at it, my hackles raised, as I read the words:

“Soon, you’ll be mine, bound and naked for me to play with. And no one will save you.”

The message burns into my vision, searing a trail of fear across my mind. The words are a cruel, twisted promise, a chilling echo of the Raven’s shadow. I look up, searching the crowd for the message’s source. You’re stupid, Ava. There’s no one here.

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