It was a man I had never seen before, his demeanor oozing with arrogance and malice. His smirk sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease wash over me as he sauntered towards me.

“Can I help you?” I asked, my voice steady despite the apprehension gnawing at the edges of my consciousness.

The man’s smirk widened into a menacing grin as he pulled out his phone, the camera lens pointed directly at me. My heart pounded in my chest as a wave of panic washed over me, my mind racing to comprehend the situation.

Before I could eventhinkto react, he snapped a photo of me, his smirk growing even more pronounced as he pocketed his phone.

As I stood behind the counter of the shop, trying to maintain an air of calm professionalism, the stranger’s unsettlingpresence sent a ripple of discomfort coursing through me. His piercing gaze bore into me like daggers aimed at my heart.

“Is there anything I can do for you,Sir?” I demanded, trying to show a strength that I truly did not feel.

“Where are you from?” he asked, his tone laced with an unsettling edge.

I forced a smile, my pulse quickening with each passing moment. “I’m from out of town,” I replied, sticking to Octavio’s script as best as I could. “From Aspen actually, so not too far away from here.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. “And your family? Are they here with you?” he pressed, his tone growing more insistent.

I swallowed hard, the weight of his scrutiny pressing down on me like a heavy burden. “No, it’s just me,” I replied, my voice steady despite the turmoil within me. “Now, is there anything I can help you withhere?”

I wanted to remind him that I was working, but he didn’t seem to care.

His gaze deepened, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. “And how long have you been in town?” he inquired, his voice low and menacing. “FromAspenor wherever.”

I hesitated for a moment, the weight of his questions threatening to overwhelm me. But I forced myself to stay composed, to stick to the story that Octavio had crafted for me.

“Just over a year,” I replied, my voice steady despite the tremor that ran through me. “Why do you ask?”

The man’s expression darkened, a scowl forming on his lips as he regarded me with suspicion. It was clear that he wasn’t satisfied with my answers, but I held my ground, refusing to give into the fear that threatened to consume me.

If this was my test, then I was going to pass it.

“Why are you here?” he demanded, refusing to let go. As the tense stand-off continued, I couldn’t help but wonder what his intentions were. His probing questions and menacing demeanor left me feeling vulnerable and exposed, like a lamb in the lion’s den.

“In the head shop? Because I work here.”

But I refused to let him see my fear, to let him know that he had rattled me. I stood my ground, a silent defiance burning within me as I stared him down, determined to protect the secrets that I held close to my heart. The more I could put him off, the quicker he might leave.

“You know what I mean,” he grimaced.

“My fiancé,” I blurted out, the words tumbling from my lips before I could stop them. “He’s from around here. That’s why I’m here. You might know him actually…”

His eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of confusion crossing his features as he processed my words. It seemed to throw him off balance, his confidence wavering for the briefest of moments before he regained his composure.

“Your fiancé?” he repeated, his tone laced with skepticism.

“Yes, Octavio. Do you know him?”

“He isn’t engaged,” the man scoffed. “He isn’t the type to get engaged.”

I didn’t know what that meant, but a heat burned in my cheeks regardless. “Maybe he just doesn’t know you well enough to tell you all the details of his life.”

The man smirked. “And where is thisfiancéof yours now?”

I forced a smile, inwardly cursing myself for letting the slip of my tongue betray me. “He’s at a business meeting,” I replied, hoping my response would appease him. “I don’t think he’ll be long. Who are you? Just so I can tell him who called around while he was gone.”

But the man’s expression remained guarded, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me with suspicion. It was clear that he wasn’t buying my story, that he could sense the undercurrent of deception that lingered beneath the surface.

“You don’t need to tell Octavio anything. It’s fine. I’m here to learn about you…”