Page 54 of Rook
Avery tried to focus on her list of things Sweet Treats needed. Flour. Sugar. Coffee. Cleaning supplies. But her mind kept drifting back to the bakery, to Noah’s voice, to the way he’d looked at her before he walked out.
She closed the notebook with a quiet snap.
She needed distance. She needed to stop feeling seventeen again, breathless and stupid over a boy who’d never asked her to stay. Except he wasn’t a boy now. And the way he’d looked at her—steady, unreadable, too much—made something old and fragile inside her ache.
She needed air.
Outside, the sky had dimmed toward evening, the streetlights flickering on one by one. Avery walked down the sidewalk, her tote bag bumping against her hip, the cool air brushing her cheeks. The town was calm, familiar in a way she’d forgotten she missed.
She turned the corner toward Sweet Treats… and paused.
A dark sedan sat at the edge of the block, engine off, windows tinted. It wasn’t unusual. Cars parked everywhere. People ran errands, stopped for dinner, visited friends.
But something about it tugged at her.
She’d seen a car like that earlier. Same color. Same shape. Same tint.
Maybe it wasn’t the same one. Maybe she was tired. Maybe she was being ridiculous.
She kept walking.
Her pulse didn’t settle.
Fear threaded through her ribs, and beneath it, embarrassingly, the instinctive thought she hated herself for. Noah would know what to do. She shoved the thought away, but it clung to her like the chill in the air.
The sedan didn’t move, didn’t start, didn’t do anything at all.
But she felt its presence like a weight between her shoulder blades until she finally turned onto her street and Sweet Treats came into view.
The lights inside Sweet Treats glowed softly against the dimming street, a small pocket of warmth in the growing dusk.
Avery stopped in front of the bakery, exhaling shakily. She told herself she was imagining things. Told herself she was safe. Told herself she wasn’t being watched.
By the time she locked up that night, the unease still clung to her skin.
She told herself she was safe as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, but the feeling didn’t fade.
Because the truth settled deeper, quieter, harder to ignore: she didn’t feel safe. Not unless he was near.
Chapter 16
Avery
Avery woke to the sound of metal scraping.
Not the soft creak of old wood. Not the hum of the bakery’s ancient fridge. Not the wind.
This was sharp. Deliberate. Wrong.
She held her breath, listening.
Click.
Her blood ran cold.
Another sound followed — the low, grinding twist of a lock being tested. Then a heavier thud, like someone putting their shoulder into the back door. The floor vibrated beneath the bedframe.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
