Or worse—was he just trying to make her paranoid?
"Child," her grandmother's voice cut through her thoughts. "You're spilling the tea."
Jillian blinked down at her cup, realizing she had poured too much, the hot liquid dripping onto the saucer. She quickly set the teapot down and muttered, "Sorry, I'm just tired."
Her grandmother gave her another long look but said nothing.
Jillian forced herself to take a sip of the tea, letting the warmth soothe her nerves. She needed to calm down. If she let fear take over, she'd be playing right into that man's hands.
But she also couldn't ignore the reality of the situation.
She needed to find out who he was.
That meant one thing—she had to go back out there.
The idea sent another chill down her spine, but she knew she couldn't just hide in the house and pretend everything was fine. If she did, she'd be giving him all the power.
Jillian glanced at her grandmother, debating whether to tell her anything. But what would she say? That some shadowy figure was stalking her? No, she couldn't do that. Her grandmother had already been through enough.
So she swallowed her fear, set her teacup down, and stood up.
"I need some fresh air," she said, moving toward the door.
Her grandmother frowned. "At this hour?"
Jillian nodded. "I won't go far."
Before her grandmother could protest, she stepped outside, shutting the door behind her.
The night air was colder than before, the kind that made the skin prickle with unease. She took a deep breath, her ears straining for any unusual sound. The street remained quiet, the houses still dark.
But she knew he was there.
She just had to find him before he made his next move.
Jillian took cautious steps down the narrow street, her pulse quickening with each movement. The cool night air whispered against her skin, and the dim streetlights cast long, eerie shadows on the ground. Her instincts screamed that she was being watched, yet her eyes could not locate the figure lurking in the darkness.
She didn't stray far from home. Instead, she moved as though she were simply stretching her legs, her hands tucked into her coat pockets to hide the tension building in her fingers. She was waiting—waiting for him to make a mistake.
A few houses down, she stopped near an old wooden fence, pretending to adjust her shoe. Slowly, she glanced over her shoulder.
There.
A shadow shifted near the alleyway across the street. He wasn't standing still anymore—he was moving.
Jillian swallowed hard, her heart pounding. She had confirmed her suspicion. Someone was following her.
But now what?
Running back home would confirm she was afraid, that she knew she was being watched. It would also put her grandmother in danger. She had to be smart.
Taking a deep breath, she straightened up and turned in the opposite direction of her house, walking toward a busier road. If she could get to the town square, there would be people around. She could disappear into the crowd or even alert someone if necessary.
The footsteps behind her were subtle, almost unnoticeable, but she knew they were there. Her stalker was keeping his distance, following with practiced patience.
Jillian's mind raced. Who was he? Was he working for Victor Holloway? Or worse—Camilla Robbinson?
A chill ran down her spine.
She couldn't allow herself to be caught off guard.
She reached into her pocket, her fingers brushing against the small pocketknife Leo had given her. Only use it if you have no other choice, he had warned. You don't stab blindly. You strike with purpose.
She hoped it wouldn't come to that.
Turning a corner, she picked up her pace, weaving through an alley that led toward the market area. If she could just make it to the main street, she could lose him.
But just as she reached the alley's midpoint, she heard a sudden rustling behind her.
Too close.
Her body tensed, and before she could react, a hand shot out, grabbing her arm.
Jillian's breath hitched as she twisted instinctively, yanking herself free. She stumbled back, her heart hammering as she finally saw him.
A tall man, dressed in dark clothing, his face partially hidden by the shadows. His eyes gleamed under the faint moonlight, studying her reaction.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then he spoke, his voice deep and cold.
"You've been causing quite a lot of trouble, Miss Smith."
Jillian clenched her fists. "Who are you?"
The man tilted his head slightly. "That's not important. What's important is that you come with me."
Her stomach twisted.
Like hell she would.
Jillian's entire body tensed as the man's grip tightened around her wrist. His strength was undeniable, his fingers pressing into her skin with enough force to warn her that struggling wouldn't be easy. But she wasn't about to let him take her without a fight.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," she hissed, yanking her arm back.
The man smirked, his grip unrelenting. "You don't have a choice."
Jillian's heart pounded as she twisted her body, using every bit of her strength to jerk herself free. It was barely enough. She staggered backward, breathing heavily as she eyed the narrow alley behind her. If she could make it past him—if she could just reach the street—there might be a chance.
But he was faster than she expected.
Before she could turn, he lunged forward.
Adrenaline surged through her veins, and instinct took over. She dodged to the side, barely escaping his grasp. Her foot caught on a loose stone, and she stumbled, but she didn't let herself fall. She pushed forward, sprinting down the alley with everything she had.
She could hear him behind her, his heavy footsteps pounding against the pavement.
Jillian's breath came in sharp bursts, her lungs burning as she ran. She knew she wasn't faster than him—he had longer legs, more endurance—but she had one advantage. She knew this town, its winding paths and hidden corners.
She took a sharp turn, nearly crashing into a stack of wooden crates. The market square was just ahead. If she could reach the crowds, she could disappear.
"Stop running!" the man barked behind her.
Like hell she would.
Jillian pushed harder, her feet barely touching the ground as she bolted into the open street. The dim glow of streetlights illuminated her path, and she weaved between startled vendors closing up their stalls for the night. She didn't dare look back—she didn't need to. She could hear him closing in.
Then, suddenly, another voice.
"Jillian!"
Her head snapped toward the sound.
Leo.
He was standing on the other side of the square, his expression twisted in alarm as he saw her. Without hesitation, she changed direction, sprinting toward him.
"Behind you!" she shouted.