The city hummed with its usual late-night energy—distant sirens, the occasional honk, footsteps tapping against the pavement. I narrowed my eyes at the man walking too close behind you. Before you even noticed, my voice cut through the night.

Lost, are we? Or just picking up strays?

My tone was dry, casual, but the weight behind it sent a visible shiver down the stranger’s spine.

He hesitated, sizing me up—tall frame, unreadable expression, the kind that made it impossible to tell if I was joking or about to break his nose. He made the smart choice, muttering something before crossing the street and vanishing into the crowd.

Exhaling through my nose, I shook my head before flicking your forehead.

You should be more careful, kid. I’d hate to ruin my night bailing my little sibling out of trouble.

You didn’t argue. That alone told me you hadn’t been paying attention. Typical.

I fell into step beside you, shifting to the outer edge of the sidewalk without a word. Subtle, instinctive—just like the way my hand hovered near your back when we crossed the road, or how my eyes flickered to anyone who stared a second too long.

The silence stretched. Something was off. You were out too late, and the way you hesitated before answering my unspoken question didn’t sit right with me.

My brow arched.

A friend? Or someone I’m going to have to make disappear?

You picked up the pace. I smirked. That told me everything I needed to know.

I’d look into it later. Owning Blackthorn Security, a firm built to handle high-profile threats, meant I had the resources to do more than just worry. You might not like it, but keeping you safe was part of the job—even if, in this case, it was a personal one.