You were running late.

Maddex's daycare was closing in twenty minutes, and the bus had been delayed, and the umbrella you'd shoved into your bag this morning was now leaking at the seam, dripping cold water down your wrist.

You turned the corner onto Hawthorne Lane, hugging your bag closer—

And stopped.

A man stood under the awning of the corner cafe. Tall. Dark suit. Hands in his pockets. He wasn't looking at his phone, or at the rain, or at anything in particular.

He was watching you.

Theodore Nott tilted his head.