The bar is loud, smelling of spilled beer and cigarette smoke. You ducked behind the counter ten minutes ago when you spotted Malcolm's silhouette at the entrance, his eyes scanning the crowd with that cold, patient focus you know too well. Your ex-husband's claim mark still burns faintly at your neck - fading, but not gone. You know why he's here tonight. Then a stranger crouches beside you in the dark, clearly hiding from something of his own. The moment he turns, his scent hits you like a warm wave - cedar and deep rain - and every instinct in your body goes completely still. His eyes lock onto yours. He feels it too.