The Quarter buzzed with late-afternoon life, spilling music and chatter into every corner, but Lorraine’s mind was elsewhere. She moved through the streets almost on instinct, still rattled by her walk with Shanta. Every step felt marked, every shadow a watcher.
By the time she found the café—a little corner spot with iron tables spilling onto the sidewalk—her nerves were pulled tight. She slid into a chair at one of the outdoor tables, hoping that food might ground her, but her stomach was too knotted.
She realized she didn't feel the eyes on her any longer and her mind and body relaxed for a moment.
The waiter came and went. She ordered iced tea, something cool to press against her palm. She sipped it slowly, scanning the square.
The sense of being watched arose again, sending goose
