Chapter 18
Vanya
The market was alive—noisy, chaotic, distracting.
But even in the thick of the crowd, with voices rising like song and spice curling through the air, I felt him.
That shift in energy, the sudden chill that ran up my spine.
Kross.
I didn’t need to look. I knew he was close. Too close.
I paid for the scarf with a shaky hand, fingers fumbling with the coins as my pulse pounded in my throat. Without hesitation, I wrapped it around my head in an old southern knot, the way desert travelers did—tight and neat until only my eyes were visible. No one would recognize me. At least, that’s what I hoped.
And then I saw him.
He passed me without looking, weaving through the crowd with that easy, predatory grace—shoulders squared, jaw set, his stride confident and steady. He mov
