Chapter 6 - Alan

Amaya smiled too easily.

It wasn’t a criticism. Just an observation. A fact.

She had the kind of smile that cracked open a room. Wide, bright, unfiltered. Like she hadn’t been taught to keep her joy quiet.

I wasn’t used to people like that.

Most of the world I’d known—before Rufio, before Makayla helped me become someone else—was full of shadows. People who smiled with their mouths but never their eyes. People who calculated every word, every move. Survival wasn’t about brightness. It was about silence.

But Amaya?

She laughed with her whole body when Baby Girl flipped onto her back mid-crosswalk for belly rubs. She danced around tangled leashes with the kind of energy that made strangers grin. She talked to the dogs like they were old friends and tossed me glances like we shared some inside joke I hadn’t been told yet.

And for the first half of that walk, I let myself enjoy it.

It had been a long time since someone like her had been in my orbit—someone so full of belief. Belief in people. In second chances. In good things.

But as we rounded the last corner near the firehouse, that strange ache crept up my spine again.

It wasn’t just the usual paranoia. It was something deeper. Older.

She’s too close.

It didn’t matter that she didn’t know anything real about me. That she didn’t know the name Dorian. That she didn’t know who my father was or what I’d run from. It didn’t matter that she had never seen the things I’d done to survive, to disappear.

Because something about her saw me anyway.

And that… was dangerous.

Amaya Rosario was the kind of person who chased the truth even when it hurt. Who followed gut feelings instead of playing it safe. And that made her the most beautiful—and most reckless—person I’d let into my world in years.

Maybe ever.

And Rufio adored her, which didn’t help.

He pulled toward her every time she was near, tail wagging, eyes wide like he was begging me to try. To let it happen. To let her in. But letting her in meant risking everything I’d built. Everything I’d buried. And worse—once she was close enough, she’d ask questions. The kinds I couldn’t answer. Not without unraveling the whole damn thing.

If I kept the walk professional—if I said less, smiled less, kept my hands in my pockets, and locked my thoughts up—maybe the feeling would pass. Maybe that pull toward Amaya would ease. It didn’t. Not even close.

So, I focused on the leash in my hand, the route ahead, the rhythm of the city under my feet—one more block, then another. Keep moving. Keep breathing.

We were halfway through our afternoon loop near the promenade when the air shifted. It wasn’t the weather. It was colder than usual for late June, but nothing dramatic. A breeze skimmed down the back of my neck and whispered, “Pay attention.”

I felt him before I saw him.

A presence, too, still against the movement of the city. Leaning against a wrought-iron gate just beyond the edge of the dog path, half-shadowed by a row of sycamores. Dark gray suit, perfectly pressed. Not too expensive, not too cheap. He had his hands in his coat pockets. Watching.

I kept walking. Kept my face neutral. I focused on Rufio’s pace, the tug of the leash in my palm, and Amaya’s voice behind me, softly calling Baby Girl.

Then I heard it. Low, cool, and loud enough to cut through the air like a blade.

“Dorian.”

I stopped walking. Every part of me went still, except for my heartbeat.

No.

I turned my head slowly, instinct screaming to run, hide, vanish—but it was already too late. He stepped forward, one pace only. Not threatening. Not overt. Just… calculated. Like always.

I hadn’t seen him in years. His name didn’t matter. Men like him didn’t need names. They worked for my father—or maybe alongside him—it never mattered which. They spoke in instructions and implications, never directly, never with warmth.

And they didn’t show up in public without a purpose. I clenched the leash tighter, my fingers aching around the loop.

“I think you have me confused with someone else,” I said, my voice low and flat.

He smiled slightly. No warmth. Just intent.

“Nice dog,” he said, nodding toward Rufio. “Didn’t think the family type would suit you.”

I didn’t blink. “Walk away.”

His eyes glittered. “You look well, Dorian.”

The name burned in my ears and my chest. I didn’t respond. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t dare glance at Amaya, who had slowed behind me—close enough to hear, maybe, but too far to intervene. I prayed she hadn’t caught the name.

The suited man gave a small tilt of his head. “We’ll be in touch.”

And then he turned and walked away like he’d only stopped to comment on the weather. I stood still for three full heartbeats.

Then I turned around, forced my face blank, and said, “We should keep moving. We’re running behind.”

Amaya nodded, but her brow furrowed just slightly. She’d noticed something. Not everything. But enough. And I had no idea how to stop the walls from cracking.

We finished the route in silence.

Not uncomfortable, exactly. But not the usual rhythm, either.

Amaya didn’t speak, nor did I. But I could feel her presence at my side like a pressure I hadn’t earned but couldn’t ignore. She walked in step with me, steady and quiet, hands relaxed, but her eyes flicked toward me every few minutes like she was trying to piece together a puzzle without the picture on the box.

Rufio stayed close, unusually calm for a late walk. His leash barely had tension. Every so often, he’d glance up at me as if checking to see if the world was still holding itself together.

It wasn’t. And somehow, Rufio knew.

When we reached the firehouse, the familiar brick and dark steel doors offered no relief. The place usually felt like a barrier from everything I didn’t want to consider. Not today.

Amaya paused near the steps, her hand still curled around Rufio’s leash. She didn’t offer it back. Not yet.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just… long day.”

The lie tasted bitter. But it was easier than the truth.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t buy it.

“Alan,” she said, voice softer now, “what about that guy?”

I kept my posture still. Neutral.

“What about him?”

She raised a brow. “He called you something else.”

I forced a casual shrug like it meant nothing. Like I hadn’t felt the floor tilt under me when that voice said my name.

“That guy earlier?” I said. “He was no one. He was just some random jackass who thought he recognized me. Wrong guy.”

Amaya tilted her head slightly, lips pressing into a thoughtful line. “He seemed… confident.”

“Confidently wrong,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “Happens.”

I kept my tone flat, my expression unreadable. I’d spent years perfecting that balance—just enough truth to anchor the lie. But Amaya’s gaze didn’t flinch. She wasn’t pushing to catch me in something.

She just wanted to understand.

“That’s the second time someone’s said something weird around you this week,” she said slowly. “I’m not trying to pry. I just…” She trailed off, eyes scanning my face. “…I care,” she finished, almost shyly.

That word hit harder than I expected.

Care.

I didn’t remember the last time someone outside my circle—outside of Makayla or Clay—had said it so plainly. It scared the hell out of me.

I gave a small, controlled nod that could pass for reassurance if you weren’t really paying attention.

“I appreciate that,” I said. “But seriously—it was nothing.”

She studied me like she could hear the lie buzzing under my skin. But in the end, she just handed back Rufio’s leash, her fingers brushing mine.

“If you say so,” she said softly. “But if you change your mind and want to talk about it… I’m a pretty good listener.”

There was no judgment in her voice. No pressure. Just that quiet, steady honesty she wore like a second skin. She gave me a smile—not bright, not flirtatious. Just kind. The kind that made my chest tighten for reasons I couldn’t name. Then she turned and started down the steps, her shoulders pulled back like she didn’t want to show she was disappointed.

I stood there for a long moment after she was gone, Rufio at my side, tail swaying slow and even like he was reading the static in the air.

I looked down at him. “I know,” I murmured, crouching to pat his head. “I should’ve told her the truth.”

Rufio licked my knuckles.

And for the first time in a long time, I wished I could. But wishing didn’t erase the danger. And the truth… the truth didn’t feel safe anymore.

I didn’t go straight home. Instead, I made three detours.

One by the river. One through a packed stretch of Hudson Street. And one back alley route behind a corner deli, ducking past overflowing trash bins and the sharp stink of summer heat baking yesterday’s rot.

I wasn’t being followed. I was sure of that. But I still changed directions twice. Took unnecessary turns. Stopped to tie my shoe even though it wasn’t untied, just to listen.

I hadn’t done that in over a year. Not since I became Alan Chambers full-time. Not since Makayla scrubbed the last digital breadcrumb off the face of the internet and gave me a new set of armor built on silence, stability, and a string of boring public records. But that man—his voice, the way he said my name like he owned it—had cracked something wide open.

By the time I reached my apartment, my throat was dry, and my palms wouldn’t stop itching. I didn’t even sit down. Instead, I started checking everything.

I checked the windows’ locks, the door’s deadbolt, the Wi-Fi router, the USB ports, and the phone settings. Heck, I even checked the lightbulbs and Rufio’s toys for listening devices.

I ran my routine, my ghost protocol—every step I’d drilled into muscle memory since I stopped being Dorian Lorenzetti and became someone safe.

I ran a silent check on every camera in the building—inside and out. I scanned my mail for any sign of tampering. I checked Rufio’s GPS tag and replaced it anyway.

Despite not breaking a sweat, I threw my hoodie into the laundry and changed shirts.

Rufio sat near the bedroom door, watching me with his ears back and his tail still. He was not scared, just alert, like he felt the tremor in the air I was trying not to name.

“False alarm,” I said out loud. “Just a message. Just a face. I’ve seen worse.”

He didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. Because he knew I was lying.

I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, phone clenched in one hand like a weapon I didn’t know how to use.

I almost didn’t check the messages. Almost. But muscle memory won.

I unlocked the burner I used for emergency contacts. Only one number should have had access to it—Makayla’s. But when I opened the notifications, there it was.

No name. No timestamp. Just the words: You can’t hide forever.

My breath caught. Not because it was new. Because it was exactly what my father used to say. Not loud. Not angry. Just certain.

As if his reach could bend time. No matter how far I ran or how well I disappeared, I was always on a leash I couldn’t see until it jerked tight.

My fingers hovered over the message.

Delete?

Screenshot?

Respond?

I did none of those. Instead, I stared at the screen, the world narrowing around those five words’ glow until Rufio let out a single low whine. Not afraid. Just warning me.

And I finally whispered the truth I hadn’t let myself say in years. “…He found me.”