Chapter 6

Clara’s pov

The warmth hit right as I set Frank’s coffee down.

It bloomed under my ribs, low, steady, and completely wrong. My hand jerked. The cup rattled against the saucer and coffee sloshed over the rim.

Frank looked up from his newspaper. “Whoa. Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” I grabbed a napkin and wiped the spill, keeping my voice even. “Just clumsy this morning.”

He watched me a second longer than usual. “You look like you didn’t sleep. Everything is okay upstairs?”

“Fine. Really.”

“You sure? You’ve got that same look my daughter used to get when something was eating at her.”

“I’m sure.” I forced a small smile. “Extra napkins?”

He nodded and let it go, but his eyes stayed on me a moment longer. I moved to the next table before he could ask anything else.

The heat didn’t fade. It sat there, pulsing slowly, while I refilled the water and took an order for scrambled eggs and toast. Every time I reached for something it flared a little, like it was answering the movement.

Marnie’s voice cut across the counter. “Clara. Kitchen. Now.”

I pushed through the swinging door. She waited until it shut before she turned.

“That’s the third time this morning you’ve gone pale for no reason. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“Don’t give me that.” She crossed her arms tight. “You’ve been rubbing your chest like something’s burning in there, and you keep zoning out in the middle of orders. Talk to me.”

I stared at the prep table. The heat was still there, steady and impossible to ignore. My wolf sat quiet and alert, listening.

“It’s nothing medical,” I said. “Just stress. Bad dreams the last couple nights.”

“What kind of bad?”

“The kind that doesn't make sense. Trees I don’t recognize. Some kind of light. Someone is talking to me. I wake up and my chest feels hot for a while. Then it fades.”

Marnie’s frown deepened. “How long?”

“Two nights. The heat started yesterday during lunch.”

“You need a doctor?”

“No.” The word came out sharper than I meant. I softened it. “I don’t do doctors. It’ll pass.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll deal with it.”

She studied my face like she was weighing whether to push harder. Finally she sighed. “Fine. But if you drop a plate or pass out, I’m dragging you to the clinic myself. Clear?”

“Clear.”

“Good. Table four’s waiting on their check. And wipe that look off your face before the regulars start asking questions.”

I went back out. The heat stayed low and stubborn. Frank didn’t ask again. Denise came in for her oatmeal, took one look at me, and said, “You look tired, honey. Are you sleeping okay?”

“Well enough.”

“Liar,” she said gently, but she didn’t press. She just left an extra dollar under her saucer when she paid.

By mid-afternoon the rush had thinned. I was restocking the sugar caddies when the heat rolled harder, sudden, strong enough that I had to grip the counter to stay upright.

Marnie appeared at my elbow. “That’s it. Break. Outside. Now.”

I didn’t argue. The alley was cooler. I sat on the concrete step and pressed both palms flat against my chest, breathing through it. My wolf pushed closer to the surface, not panicked, just intensely focused.

“You feel it too,” I whispered. “Don’t you?”

She didn’t answer in words, but the agreement was clear. Whatever this was, she wasn’t afraid of it. That scared me more than the heat itself.

The back door opened. Marnie stepped out with a glass of water and handed it over without comment. I drank half of it.

“Are you going to tell me the truth eventually?” she asked.

“About what?”

“Whatever you’re running from. Or whatever’s following you. I don’t need details. I just need to know if it’s going to walk through my front door one day.”

I met her eyes. “It’s not following me. Not like that. And it’s not walking through any door.”

“You sure?”

“As sure as I can be.”

She nodded once, slow. “All right. But you keep me posted if that heat gets worse. I’m not losing a good waitress to stubbornness.”

“I will.”

She went back inside. I stayed on the step until the flare eased to a dull warmth again.

Then I finished the shift, counting tips on autopilot and avoiding mirrors because I didn’t want to see whatever expression was on my face.

That night I tried to stay awake. I sat on the bed with the window cracked, lights on, a thrift-store book open on my knees.

The words wouldn’t stick. My eyes kept drifting shut no matter how hard I fought it.

The dream took me anyway.

Same clearing. Same tall trees that didn’t belong anywhere near Millbrook. The silver thread floated in front of me, glowing brighter than before.

When I reached for it the heat exploded through my chest and down my arms until my hands shone gold. The voice came clearer this time, low, certain, almost familiar.

“You were never meant to stay small, Clara.”

I woke with a gasp, heart slamming, the real heat so strong I could feel it in my fingertips. The room was dark.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat there shaking, both hands pressed hard against my sternum.

“What the hell are you?” I whispered to the empty air.

My wolf stirred, calm and waiting. The warmth stayed steady now, like it had decided it belonged there.

I didn’t sleep again. I sat on the floor with my back against the bed until the sky over the alley turned gray, counting every pulse of heat and wondering how much longer I could pretend this was nothing.