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And gives me space to think.

It'll do no good for anybody if I kill this guy right here. Or kill him at all. Whoever sent him, they'll just send someone else—probably many someones—and then the people I care about will get hurt.

I can't have that.

I have to handle this the right way.

Climbing off him, I scour the shed and find some rope, which I use to bind him. Then I call 911.

It isn't long before flashing lights signal the arrival of the police. Two officers get out, and one cuts the intruder free of the ropes while the other slaps him in handcuffs.

"We'll take this guy into the station for booking. Another officer will be by shortly to take your statement, so don't go anywhere, okay?"

I nod.

But as the officer escorting the intruder takes him to the squad car, I see something that roils my gut; a whisper. An exchange of glances between the officer and the intruder.

It's a look of familiarity, an unspoken understanding.

A chill thought runs through me: how deep does this thing go?

Chapter Eight

Amelia

Warm, golden light of the early morning sun filters through the windows of Rolls and Twists, bathing the quaint cafe in a cozy glow. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the irresistible scent of buttery pastries browning in the oven and tempting me from the display case. The smell, combined with the faint hum of quiet conversations and the gentle whoosh of an espresso machine hard at work, fills me with an urge to just sit down, open a book, and forget about the outside world.

Sera and I slide into a cozy booth near the window, our coffees steaming between us. She digs into a flaky croissant, crumbs scattering over the checkered tablecloth. I smile at her enthusiasm, despite the knot of anxiety tightening in my chest as my mind keeps drifting back to work and all its worries. I wrap my fingers around my cup, feeling the warmth seep into my palms.

"God, this is heavenly," Sera mumbles between bites, her eyes closed in bliss. "You need to try one of these, Lia."

"Maybe later," I reply as I take a sip of my coffee. The rich, bold taste does little to soothe my nerves. I just can't shake the feeling that my life is about to come crashing down around me.

“You sure?” She replies. Then, when I don’t answer, she returns to savaging her croissant. For someone who is so precise and downright delicate when she has a paintbrush in her hands, she is mauling her pastry like a hungry bear attacking an unlucky hiker.

“I’m sure.”

As she eats, my anxiety gnaws at me. Grows. Consumes me.

"Ugh, I can't keep it in any longer," I blurt out, drawing Sera's attention away from her croissant. "My job's on the line, Sera. The community's backlash against the Eco Resort project is insane. My boss gave me an ultimatum—if I don't turn things around, I'm out."

"Yikes, that's rough," Sera replies, setting down the remains of her pastry. Her eyes are warm and concerned as she reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. "But hey, you're the master of spin. Or at least, I'm sure you put that on your resume. Don't worry, babe, you've got this."

I take a deep breath, trying to let her words wash over me like a soothing balm. But the fear gnawing at my insides persists, impossible to ignore.

I force a smile, a shaky attempt to reassure both of us.

"Thanks, Sera. That means more than you know." My grip tightens around my coffee cup, my knuckles turning white with tension.

“Don’t feed me that line of crap,” she says. Sera's eyes narrow, her voice growing serious. "You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Lia. You always have been. Just remember what we used to say back in college: when life gives you lemons—"

"Make lemonade and spike it with vodka," I finish, chuckling at the memory. It feels like a lifetime ago, a simpler time when our biggest worries were exams and party planning.

"Exactly," she grins, winking at me. "So, let's brainstorm some solutions. What do you need to turn this whole mess around?"

The cafe sounds fade into the background as we hunker down, determination sparking between us and Sera resuming the merciless destruction of her croissant. Time passes, and it feels good, losing myself in something constructive: problem solving with someone I feel confident with, someone I can share every single crazy idea that crosses my mind and not worry that they’re going to judge me for it.

I need this.

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