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“I think so, yes.”

“What are you going to do?” she asks, walking toward me and taking my hands.

“I can’t do anything, Trina. I told you what I saw.”

She nods, then wraps me in a tight hug. “I know this is scary, but if you’re their scent-match, you need to consider your options. Just because there are bad cops out there, doesn’t mean they are all bad. These two detectives could be good guys. I told you about my instincts, right?”

“They’re never wrong,” I mutter against her chest, unable to stop the smile that splits my face.

She laughs, pulling back and cupping my cheeks to look into my eyes.

“They’re not. I have a very strong intuition, and those men? Regardless of that dark-haired one excelling at the tough-guy act, they’re good people.”

“I don’t know…”

She gives me a soft smile. “Well, it’s not something you need to decide right now. There’s a lot going on, and I need help in the bakery.”

I’m happy for the distraction, but feeling guilty that she didn’t open today at her normal hours. This is her livelihood—how she keeps her bills paid.

“I just need to change and I’ll be down to help you.”

She gives me another quick hug before heading downstairs. I do as I said; change quickly and then I get downstairs to help her.

She’s setting up the pastry case when I get inside.

Before she picked me up this morning, she baked everything she needed for the day, like she always does in the morning. She opened for a couple of hours, but then put the CLOSED sign up so she could pick me up. I felt awful for it, but she promised it was okay. That it wasn’t a very busy time anyway, because the morning rush had already come through. I’m not sure I believe her. She lies to me about little things like that to make me feel better. I guess in that case it’s okay to lie, but I still wish she’d be honest with me. I just know she has good intentions, so it doesn’t bother me as much

Over the next few days, we fall into an easy routine. While I help at the bakery, Trina teaches me her ways. She shows me her recipes and the way she likes to set up the case. She teaches me how to make the coffees on the menu, so I can help when it gets busy. I become familiar with the regulars; learning names, orders, and what time they will show up. Some even chat for a few and I learn where they work.

I don’t think much about the detectives while I’m working, but when I’m alone at night, they’re all I think about. I wonder if Trina is right about them, and if they are good men. If they are, they could keep me safe from whoever is looking for me. It’s a big risk; one I’m not sure I want to take.

I have Pierce Warren’s number. I could call to talk about us being a scent match—something we’re both very aware of. I’ve always handled issues head on. It was easy in the village, but that’s because things were simple. Even our problems. Finding a solution, we all worked together to figure that out. We trusted each other; knew who to go to for what. But when you don’t know who you can trust, you can’t use the same technique, and I don’t know how to handle this. It’s one of the reasons I never wanted to leave the village at all.

Trina isn’t being helpful. She’s been pushing me to speak with them to figure out what to do. She says they’re the only ones who can help me make a solid decision, and though I see her point, I’m still too scared to open up to them about anything. Trina brings it up every chance she can, though. I don’t get mad at her for it. In fact, it’s sweet. She’s worried about me and wants me to be happy. If this were a different situation, I wouldn’t hesitate in speaking with the two detectives. I would want to bond with them. I would have no reason not to.

And that’s what makes me angry about this situation. I’m angry that I’m twisted up in this impossible scenario. Angry that my friend is dead.

Just… angry.

I’d accepted I would live my life alone, but now I have an opportunity for much more. Only it feels like it’s being stolen from me, because how can I choose them and the life we could have together when I don’t think I can trust them?

When I’m alone in my room Sunday night, after a long day at the bakery, I slide my hand between the mattress and the box spring of my bed. My fingers graze the small rectangle that Tiger gave me. I pull it out and turn it over and over to look at it. I still don’t know what it does or what it is. I don’t know how it can be important.

“What are you trying to tell me, Tiger? What is this for?” I say softly, staring at the small object. I turn it over in my hand again and again, willing it to grow a mouth and tell me what its use it. Obviously that’ll never happen, so I slip it back between the mattress and the box spring and get into bed, falling asleep easily.

Tuesday morning is especially busy at Honeybun Bakery. Busier than it normally is, from what Trina says. It’s okay though, because she has me here to help her.

She’s faster at taking customers’ orders and making coffee, since she’s been doing it alone for so long, so while she handles this big rush that comes in, I go into the back to pull the extra pastries so I can restock the case in between bagging whatever pastries she needs for orders.

At some points, there are more people in here than was in my entire village. It still makes me a little nervous being around so many people. Or maybe it’s just the chaos of the rush. The high energy and buzz of it all. It’s new, and I’m already stressed out to begin with. That won’t make me stop helping though. I like being here, and I like helping Trina at the bakery. I like having a purpose.

I have a tray of muffins that I restock the case with, sliding them in one by one. The din of the bakery is loud with customers chatting while they wait for orders or enjoy them. As I fill the case, I hear Trina welcome new customers, take their orders, tell them the price, then get to work making their drinks. When she needs something from the case, I put it into a bag and hand it over.

I’m filling the last tray with chocolate donuts when I hear something that has my blood running cold. A voice. One that has my blood turning to ice. I grip the tray in my hand so tightly I think I dent the metal.

That voice…

I’ll never forget it.