Chapter 64 The Jumpiness

Chapter 64 The Jumpiness
The streets of Paris had become a minefield.
Hallie walked fast after work, her head down, her senses stretched to their limits. Every shadow seemed to hold a threat. Every figure in the distance could be him—Greg Sanders, come to finish what he had started, to cleanse the world of her existence.
The shadows beneath her skin hummed with readiness, pressed against the barrier of her control, waiting to be unleashed. Hallie kept them there, barely, a hair trigger away from release. If he attacked, she would be ready. She would not be caught defenseless.
A man stepped out of a doorway ahead of her, and Hallie's heart lurched. Her hand twitched, shadows coiling around her fingers, ready to strike.
The man lit a cigarette, glanced at her, and continued on his way.
Just a stranger. Just Paris. Just her imagination running wild.
Hallie forced herself to breathe, to walk, to keep moving.

Seth was already home when she arrived, the apartment warm and bright against the winter dark. He was in the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the fridge, and he looked up when she entered, his expression softening.
"Hey. How was work?"
"Fine." Hallie hung her coat on the hook, her eyes scanning the living room, the windows, the corners. All clear. "Madame Leclerc wants me to redo the hem on the evening gown. Again."
"She's pushing you hard."
"She's preparing me for the show." Hallie settled onto the couch, curling her legs beneath her. "At least, that's what I tell myself."
Seth returned to his cooking, and Hallie tried to relax. The apartment felt safe—familiar, warm, filled with the evidence of their shared life. But her nerves were frayed, her senses still on high alert, and every small sound made her flinch.
The clatter of cutlery on the floor was too much.
Seth had dropped a fork—just a fork, nothing more—but the sound rang through the quiet apartment like a gunshot. Hallie was on her feet before she knew what she was doing, shadows lashing out, ready to defend.
Seth stared at her, the fallen fork forgotten, his brown eyes wide.
"Hallie."
She blinked, the shadows retreating, her heart pounding. "I'm sorry. I didn't—it was just—"
"You're jumpy." He crossed the room, a worried expression on his face.
"I'm not—"
"You are." He stopped in front of her, close enough to touch, not quite touching. "And it's my fault."
"Your fault?"
"I told you about my father. About what he said. And I didn't—" Seth ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I didn't realize how much it would affect you. How much it would scare you."
Hallie wanted to deny it. Wanted to insist she was fine, that she could handle this, that she wasn't afraid of anything. But the words wouldn't come. Because he was right. She was scared. Terrified, even. And pretending otherwise wasn't helping either of them.
"I see him everywhere," she admitted. "Every shadow, every stranger, every unexpected sound. I keep waiting for him to appear." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I keep waiting for him to try to kill me again."
Seth's jaw tightened. "That's not going to happen."
"You don't know that."
"I do." He stepped closer, finally touching her, his hands settling on her shoulders. "Because I'm not going to let it. I'm going to confront him."
Hallie's heart lurched. "Confront him? Seth, that's—"
"Necessary." His voice was firm. "I'm tired of watching my back at every corner. And you're not doing much better." He looked at her—really looked, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the shadows that still flickered at the edges of her control. "This isn't living, Hallie. This is surviving. And I refuse to let him take that from us."
"What if he hurts you?"
"I'm his son. He won't."
"He tried to kill me."
Seth's expression flickered. "I know. And I won't let him try again." He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. "I'll talk to him. Make him understand. And if he won't—" He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Then we deal with that together. But I'm done hiding. Done waiting. Done letting him dictate how we live."
Hallie closed her eyes, let herself sink into the warmth of him.
"Promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise."
"And you'll tell me before you go?"
Seth hesitated. "Hallie—"
"Promise me, Seth. I can't—" Her voice cracked. "I can't lose you again."
He pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. "You won't. I swear it. Whatever happens, you won't lose me."
Hallie wanted to believe him. Needed to believe him.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay."

The days that followed were tense but bearable.
Hallie threw herself into her work, using the collection as a distraction, a focus, a way to channel her fear into something productive. Madame Leclerc's critiques were harsh but fair, pushing her toward excellence, refusing to let her settle for mediocrity.
"You're holding back," Madame Leclerc observed one afternoon, studying Hallie's latest revision. "Why?"
Hallie considered lying. Considered making excuses. But something in Madame Leclerc's gaze invited honesty.
"I'm afraid of ruining it," she admitted. "Of pushing too hard and losing what makes it special."
"Ah." Madame Leclerc nodded slowly. "That fear never goes away. I still feel it, with every collection. The trick is to work despite it. To trust your instincts." She fixed Hallie with her dark eyes. "You have good instincts, Grey. Don't let fear rob you of them."
Hallie nodded, returned to her work, and tried.

Seth made his plans quietly.
He didn't tell Hallie when he was going, only that he would. He spent hours on the phone, arranging meetings, calling in favors from Slayers who still respected him. He contacted his father's allies, his father's enemies, anyone who might help him find the right moment, the right approach.
"You're being too secretive," Hallie said one night, watching him pace the apartment.
"I'm being careful."
"Same thing."
"Sometimes." He stopped, facing her. "I'm not trying to shut you out, Hallie. I'm trying to protect you."
"Protect me, or protect yourself?"
The question hung between them, sharp and honest. Seth's expression flickered.
"Both," he admitted. "Maybe. I don't know." He crossed to her, taking her hands. "I've spent so long being afraid of him. Of what he thinks, what he might do. And I'm tired of it. I want to be free."
Hallie squeezed his fingers. "Then let me help you."
"You are helping. Just by being here. By loving me." He lifted her hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "That's more than I ever deserved."
"Don't say that."
"It's true. I broke your heart. Twice. And still, you stayed. Still, you love me." His eyes were bright. "That's not something I take for granted."
Hallie pulled him into a kiss—soft, deep, full of everything she couldn't put into words.
"I love you," she said against his lips. "I've loved you since I was seventeen years old. And I'm not going to let your father—or anyone else—take that from us."
Seth held her close, his cheek pressed to her hair.
"Together," he said.
"Together."

The confrontation came on a Tuesday, when Hallie was at the studio, at 1:47 PM: Going to see him now. Will update when I can.
Hallie stared at her phone, her heart already racing, her hands already trembling. She typed back: Be careful. I love you.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Then: I love you too.
The hours crawled past.
Hallie tried to work. She sewed seams that would have to be ripped out, pinned fabric that would have to be repositioned, made mistakes she would have to fix later. Her hands moved mechanically, her body present but her mind light-years away, stuck in a loop of worst-case scenarios.
At five o'clock, she texted: How did it go?
No response.
At six: Seth? I'm getting worried.
Nothing.
At seven, she called. It went straight to voicemail.
The shadows surged beneath her skin, wanting to act, wanting to find him, wanting to tear apart anyone who might have hurt him. Hallie pushed them back, barely. She needed to think. Needed to plan. Needed to do something other than sit here, waiting, drowning in fear.
She started searching through his things.
It felt like a violation—going through his desk, his drawers, the small box where he kept important papers. But she didn't know who else to call, didn't know how to find him, didn't know anything except that he was out there somewhere, possibly in danger, and she was useless here.
His address book was old, worn, filled with names she didn't recognize. But near the back, under "Emergency Contacts," she found it.
Marcus. With a phone number.
Hallie didn't hesitate.

The phone rang four times. Five. Hallie was about to hang up, about to try someone else, about to lose hope entirely, when a voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Marcus?" Hallie's voice cracked. "It's Hallie. Seth's—"
"I know who you are." His tone shifted from sleepy to alert. "What's wrong?"
"Seth went to meet his father. Hours ago. He said he'd update me, and I haven't heard anything. His phone goes straight to voicemail. I don't know where he is, and I'm—" She stopped, forced herself to breathe. "I'm scared."
Marcus was quiet for a moment. Then: "Do you know where they were meeting?"
"No. He didn't tell me."
"Typical." Marcus sighed. "Okay. I'll make some calls. See what I can find out. But Hallie—"
"Yes?"
"Don't do anything stupid. Seth would kill me if something happened to you."
"I won't."
"Good. I'll call you back."
The line went dead.