Claire's POV
The bell above the flower shop door jingled softly as Vanessa slipped out, calling over her shoulder,
"Don't stay too late, Claire. You've been running yourself ragged all week."
Claire waved, trying to sound cheerful. "I'll lock up in a few minutes."
In truth, she still had at least an hour's worth of work to do—sorting deliveries, watering the wilting tulips, checking the register. The smell of roses and eucalyptus clung to her, soothing and familiar, but tonight it didn't calm her.
The shop was quieter than usual, the hum of the small refrigerator in the corner louder in the stillness. Outside, the street was dim under the soft flicker of the old lamppost.
She was arranging a bouquet when a movement in her peripheral vision caught her eye—just a shadow slipping past the glass front. She looked up, but whoever it was had already moved on.
Odd.
She brushed it off, but the unease stayed.
She had just started counting the day's sales when the soft scrape of paper against tile made her freeze.
A small white envelope had been slipped under the front door.
Her heart thudded. Customers sometimes left thank-you notes or payments that way, but at this hour? No.
Bending down, she picked it up. No name. No return address.
She tore it open. Two words stared back at her in sharp, blocky handwriting:
Leave him.
Her stomach dropped.
Dean? Ethan? The thought of either made her throat tighten.
A gust of wind rattled the door, and she suddenly became aware of how alone she was. Vanessa's laughter was long gone. The street outside was empty again—or at least, it looked that way.
Claire shoved the note into her coat pocket, turned the key in the lock, and pulled down the blinds. The shop felt smaller, like the shadows had thickened.
The walk home should have been a comfort—it always was—but tonight every echo of her footsteps was too loud, every shadow too long.
Halfway down Main Street, she heard it: another set of footsteps behind her.
She slowed. The sound slowed. She sped up. So did they.
When she spun around, her breath visible in the cool air, there was no one there. Just the still street, the glowing windows of a diner across the way, and the faint smell of rain on the air.
She forced herself forward, refusing to run. Running would mean she believed someone was following her. Running would make her panic real.
By the time she reached her building, her palms were damp, her heart racing.
Inside her apartment, she flicked on the light and leaned against the door. The quiet was oppressive. She thought about calling Lena, but her sister had been under enough stress with work. Claire didn't want to add to it.
Instead, she busied herself with making tea, ignoring the way her hands still trembled as she reached for the kettle.
But the note burned in her pocket like a brand.
Ethan's POV
The taste of whiskey was sharp on Ethan's tongue, the kind that lingered even after he set the glass down.
Luke sat across from him at the far end of Nolan's Tavern, a place where the regulars knew better than to ask questions.
"You've been keeping your head down," Luke said, nursing his own drink. "That's good. But you're not the only one laying low."
Ethan frowned. "What do you mean?"
Luke hesitated, then leaned forward. "Madison's in town."
The words hit like a cold blade sliding between Ethan's ribs.
He sat back, tension winding through him. "When?"
"Couple of days ago. Haven't seen her since, but I heard she's been asking questions. About you."
Ethan's fingers curled around his glass. Madison never came anywhere without a reason. And if she was here, sniffing around? Trouble wasn't far behind.
Luke gave him a look. "You need to get ahead of her, Ethan. You know what she's capable of."
Yeah. He knew. He knew all too well.
Later, he found her in the back corner of Rusty's Bar, leaning against the wall like she owned the place.
Madison hadn't changed much—still the same dark hair, same predatory smile.
"Ethan Cole," she drawled, her voice dripping with amusement. "Didn't think you'd still be breathing."
"Cut to it, Madison. What do you want?"
She twirled the straw in her drink. "It's not about what I want. It's about what she doesn't know. Yet."
The air between them turned sharp. "Stay away from her."
Her smile widened. "Oh, I will. But she deserves the truth, don't you think? About the fire?"
His chest tightened. "You even say her name—"
"Relax, cowboy." Madison tilted her head. "I'm not here to hurt her. I'm just… here to make sure you remember you can't outrun your past."
She brushed past him, leaving the scent of her perfume in her wake, and he knew this was only the first strike.
Claire's POV
Dean's knock came just after nine.
When she opened the door, he was leaning casually against the frame, holding a paper bag. "Brought dinner. Thought you could use company."
Part of her wanted to tell him no. The other part didn't want to be alone with her thoughts and that cursed note.
They sat on the couch, eating Chinese takeout in silence until he glanced at her. "You seem… off tonight."
She almost told him. Almost mentioned the footsteps, the note, the strange feeling in the air. But she swallowed it down.
"I'm fine," she lied.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She swiped to open the message. Two words, again:
Ask him about the fire.
Her pulse skipped.
She didn't know what fire the message referred to, but the unease in her chest deepened. And for some reason, Ethan's face was the first to flash in her mind.
Ethan's POV
Back at the motel, Ethan paced the small room. Madison had made her move—he could feel it.
He pulled the gun from the nightstand and checked the chamber. He wasn't going to let her get close to Claire.
Not again.
Not after what happened last time.
Claire's POV – Closing Scene
She was rinsing her mug in the kitchen when the sound reached her—a faint shuffle outside her window.
She pulled the curtain back and froze.
Across the street, a shadow stood under the lamppost.
Not moving.
Not leaving.
When she blinked, it was gone.
The note in her pocket felt heavier than ever.
And for the first time in years, Claire wasn't sure she was safe in her own town.