I looked up and noticed an elderly couple ambling along, leaning on one another for support. The sun had broken through the clouds, and bright rays of light filtered through tree branches, seeming to follow the couple. They made their way to a bench across from mine, their gray hair nearly white in the sunlight. The old man sat first, hand still clutching a cane as he gazed to his left while the woman remained standing. I thought she might be speaking to him, but he was still staring away. Maybe he was hard of hearing? Or maybe—

The woman’s form flickered and then stabilized. I squinted, realizing the glow around her wasn’t due to the sunlight.

She was a spirit.

Possibly the man’s deceased wife, and she was right next to him—she had helped him to the bench—and he had no idea she was there. A suspicious wetness gathered in my eyes. I’d never seen anything so sad and so beautiful. I started to rise just as the spirit turned toward me. Although I couldn’t make out her face, I knew she was aware of me. Spirits always were. I could help her—help them both—if that was what she wanted. She must have a mes—

A chill tiptoed over the nape of my neck and settled between my shoulders. Twisting, I scanned the area behind me, but there was nothing but grass and trees. No one stood there like a creeper, but the feeling remained and it reminded me of what I’d felt in the zombie building.

I looked back at the couple. The spirit was gone, and the old man was still staring into the distance, seeming unaware of just about everything. I shifted on the bench, unable to shake the strange shivery sensation. Muscles along my spine stiffened.

I didn’t just feel watched. I felt watched like a field mouse being eyed by a hawk. Becoming hyperaware, I inched one hand closer to one of my daggers. Something was near me.

My fingers drifted over the handle...and then the iciness vanished and the feeling of being watched with it.

What in the Hell?

I looked around again. Nothing had changed. In front of me, the old man stood and began shuffling down the path, relying on his cane instead of his wife.

By the time I felt the warm ball in my chest pulse brightly, I had no explanation of what I had felt. Zayne must’ve driven like a bat out of Hell, because I didn’t think thirty minutes had passed. I sat straighter, looking toward the bridge. I squinted, but things were just a fuzzy blur. Zayne had to be close. I could feel his presence—

My head jerked the other way, and under one of the dazzling streams of light, Zayne strode forward, his golden hair taking on a halo effect in the sunlight.