"Come on, Adria. Wake up."
I groan and burrow deeper into the blanket like it's a shield from the world. Lee always does this—morning person through and through, while I'd rather die than wake up before nine.
"I swear," his voice drops into warning territory, "if you're not up by the time I count to five, I'm dragging you out."
"Go away, Lee," I mumble into the pillow.
"Nope. If you don't get up, you'll crash again and sleep till noon. I got shit to do today."
I let out a dramatic groan and fling the blanket off me. "Fine. I'm up. But you owe me an ice cream cone later."
"Deal." He smirks and tosses a clean towel onto the bed. "Get washed. I'll make breakfast."
I take my time getting ready, stretching and yawning before moving toward the bathroom. The reflection that greets me in the mirror is a version of myself I'm oddly proud of—tanned skin from being outside so much, long brown hair that brushes my waist, wide lips Lee always teases me about, and big chocolate-brown eyes that look darker from a distance.
For a girl who's lived off-grid most of her life, I don't look half bad.
By the time I step out dressed in my favorite jeans and white tee, Lee's already holding two plates of bacon sandwiches.
"You should wake up grumpy more often," he says, handing me mine. "You move faster."
We eat on the couch, sitting on opposite ends like always.
"So," Lee says through a mouthful of bacon, "we hit the Anchor today?"
I glance up. "The rich people place? That's risky."
"That's why it's worth it. Easy score if we hit the right one." He swigs his water. "I get us something good, we'll smoke later."
I raise an eyebrow. "You're bribing me with weed?"
"I'm bribing you with good weed."
"Fine," I grumble. "But you better follow through."
After locking up the den and camouflaging the hatch, we head into town. By the time we reach the Anchor, the sun's high and the sidewalks are already packed.
We sit across the street with our cones, people-watching. That's when Lee nudges me.
"What about him?"
I follow his gaze. A man steps out of a black car—expensive, sleek, definitely not from this part of the world. He's in a tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, sunglasses, expensive leather shoes. The kind of man who smells like money and arrogance.
"He's loaded," Lee murmurs. "And careless. Watch sparkled from here."
I eye him again. "He's clean. No security?"
"None. That's our guy."
Lee tosses his cone in the trash and heads off. "I'll hit the back. You walk through the front."
Classic split.
I toss mine and follow suit, walking into the restaurant like I belong. High ceilings, marble floors, waiters in vests. I smile wide at the host. "Hi. Table for two. I'm meeting my dad."
He nods and leads me through the maze of tables until I'm seated at the back.
I spot the man right away. He's sitting near the center, back to me, speaking to someone across the table. I can't see the other guy's face, but tension is written all over his shoulders. Angry tension.
I text Lee:
Got him. Middle table. Facing me.
He replies instantly:
In bathroom. Wait for signal.
Five minutes crawl by. I sip my water. Pretend to scroll. Wait.
Then—chaos.
Screaming. "A man with a gun!" someone yells.
Lee bursts out of the bathroom in full panic-mode, acting terrified as he bolts for the exit. He's a damn good actor.
People scatter, chairs screeching, glass tipping. The man and his companion rise quickly, distracted by the stampede of fleeing customers.
That's my cue.
I slip through the crowd, brushing past the man's companion. One swift motion—wallet out, gone. No hesitation. No eye contact.
Then I "trip" near the man himself, falling right into his side. As he steadies himself, my fingers unclasp his watch and snatch his wallet.
He sneers and pushes me off. "Watch it, kid."
Too late.
I melt into the crowd and bolt through the exit. Heart pounding. Adrenaline rushing. The street's a mess of confused people and traffic.
I'm almost across when a hand grabs my arm and yanks me hard into a nearby alley.
My back slams against the brick wall. A hand clamps over my mouth.
I fight on instinct—kicking, twisting, elbowing. But whoever this is? He doesn't budge.
He's strong. Too strong.
Finally, I go still, glaring up at him. He's taller than I expected. Hair black and neat. His jaw is shadowed in stubble—just enough to say he doesn't care but still makes it look good. He wears sunglasses that block his eyes. That pisses me off.
His arm pins me in place.
"If I take my hand off," he says low, voice familiar and unreadable, "you gonna scream?"
I hesitate. Then nod once.
He removes it slowly, but keeps me caged.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I hiss. "You better back off before I—"
His hand flies back to my mouth, silencing me again. "God, you talk too much."
I freeze.
That voice.
Something about it cuts through me. Familiar in a way I can't place.
"I saw you," he says softly. "You're good. Real good. If I didn't know what to look for, I wouldn't have noticed."
My stomach turns cold.
"But," he adds, leaning in until our faces are inches apart, "I happened to check my pocket too. Guess what's missing?"
I blink. My brain stutters.
"What—" I shake my head.
"You saved my life six months ago," he murmurs. "And now you're robbing me?"
And that's when it hits me.
No way.
It can't be—
With trembling fingers, I reach up and pull off his sunglasses.
Blue. Crystal, ice-cold blue.
"John?" I whisper.
He grins. "Took you long enough."
I stumble back. "No freaking way."
"The last time you saw me, I looked like roadkill," he says casually. "I clean up nice."
"You—" I shake my head, overwhelmed. "You look like a different person."
"Yeah, not bleeding out helps with that."
I exhale a laugh despite myself. "You fell down the dip of death and now you're catching pickpockets. What a glow-up."
"I try," he says, clearly enjoying himself. Then he looks down. "So. My wallet?"
I sigh and pull it from my jacket, holding it out. "If I'd known it was you…"
He takes it without judgment. His fingers brush mine—warm, steady. I feel stupidly guilty.
"I'm sorry," I mumble. "I didn't know."
He watches me, face unreadable. For the first time in a long while, I feel exposed. Small.
I start to back away. "I'll go. You won't see me again."
His voice stops me.
"What's your real name?"
I don't turn around. "How do you know it's not Jane?"
"You're good at a lot of things, kid. Lying ain't one of them."
I pause. Then slowly glance over my shoulder.
"Adria," I say, quiet but clear.
He nods once. "Adria," he echoes. Like he's tasting the name.
I hesitate. "And yours?"
He lights a cigarette, the flick of the flame brief in the shadowed alley. "Jensen."
I nod, letting it roll off my tongue. "Jensen… yeah. That fits."
He leans against the brick wall, smoke curling around his face.
"See you around, Jensen," I say, and this time when I walk away, I don't look back.
But my heart's still racing like I did something dangerous.
Because maybe I did.