Lia wasn’t sure how Devon knew where she lived. She opened the door before he could knock, slipping out into the dark with him. The morning was cold, colder than it usually was in March, and the wind ripped through their coats like shears through paper. Devon was bundled up in a black wool coat and burgundy scarf, and his hair was curled from the wind. He clutched a small white bag in his left hand, and Lia stayed on his right. Despite the chill, she kept a few inches between them. If Devon wasn’t interested in dating, she shouldn’t push it.

“You cold?” he asked, and pulled his right hand from his pocket. “Here.”

He held out his hand and Lia took it. He tucked her hand into his pocket. At the bottom was one of those hot packets that stayed warm after snapping, and he closed her fingers around it. Lia crossed her other arm over her chest and shoved it under her arm. Devon’s fingers curled around her hand.

“Thank you,” Lia said, ducking her head against the wind and hoping the cold hid her warm cheeks. “So Peter bird-watches? Even on days like this?”

“Especially on ones like this.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s a matter of pride, I think? I don’t know. He likes birds.”

It was a while to the park, and Lia’s parents had agreed to let her walk there since Devon was with her. The dark, though, closed in. The silence made the back of her neck itch.

“Stop.” Devon stopped at the edge of a small parking lot, a lush green park full of frost-ridden evergreens and a trail lined with rosemary bushes leading into the dark. The sun was peeking over the horizon, and he untangled his hand from hers. “We have about fifteen minutes before they show up. Some kid leads it. He’s trying to make it a thing.”

“How do you know?”

He handed her the white bag. “If I tell you I tried it last year, how much will you laugh?”

Lia grinned.

“I hated it,” he said. “Here. You like cinnamon rolls, right?”

“They’re my favorite,” she said, following him into the park. “For this, I won’t laugh.”

“How kind of you,” Devon said, and he hid his smile behind a hand.

They settled into a little thicket far off the trail but close enough to watch Peter arrive. The light filtered through the trees and barely lit their little spot. Devon walked behind a large tree trunk, and the branches rustled. Somewhere, far off, a dog barked. Lia froze.

“Lia?” Devon asked. “You okay?”

She had been so sure in that second that he would be bloody and dying. There would be a crash. She would find him dead.

“Yeah,” she said, sitting on an old railroad tie next to him. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Go ahead and eat,” he said. “We’re together, so we’re safe.”

Lia laughed and smiled. “My brave assassin shield.”

“I’m just glad you finally started talking to me again.” He opened the bag and pulled out a cinnamon roll larger than his hand. “We’ve got five minutes. They really just congregate and stare at trees while two country club guys talk about this one time they saw an ivory-billed woodpecker.”

Lia pulled out her cinnamon roll. It was still hot and gooey, the cinnamon filling laced with chopped walnuts and pecans. The first bird-watcher showed up with a car full of kids when Lia was halfway done with her roll, and Devon ducked down with her behind the bushes. He shoved the last handful of his roll into his mouth and cleaned up with hand sanitizer. Peter arrived second, stepping out into the cold with a puff of warm breath. The crowd grew to fifteen over the next five minutes.

“I bet he always arrives second,” muttered Devon with cinnamon clinging to his lips and cheek. “He likes to arrive places on the hour.”

“Devon, wait,” she whispered, and wiped the cinnamon sugar from the corner of his mouth with her thumb. “There.”

His lips parted slightly. His face tilted to hers. “Lia?”

“Assassins with cinnamon on their lips aren’t scary.” She let her hand linger on his cheek. “You’re ready now.”

Lia downloaded a map of the trails. Peter was at the start of the group, alone and red-cheeked. Devon and Lia followed them for a minute to check which path they took at a fork and then returned to their seats, where they could see the end of the trail. The bird-watchers returned in small groups with thermoses and cameras clasped in their hands. Peter wasn’t last but he was close. Devon narrowed his eyes as Peter left. The other person who had arrived first stayed until everyone was gone. They stretched near their car.

“Wait here,” Lia said.

Nothing could happen to him when they were only a few feet apart.

Lia crept forward to see who it was. She stayed low and darted through the trees to the other side of the lot. She pushed some branches aside. The guy in charge wasn’t old at all; he was an alum from Mark’s year. She couldn’t remember his name, but she knew where he lived. Mark had made her wait in the car often enough when stopping by his house. He left after a few minutes. She turned back to Devon.

A shadow stood in the foliage behind him. It raised an arm, something dark grasped in its hands. Lia darted back, ripping her own water gun out in a blink, and fired one shot. It splattered against the trees, and she tackled Devon. His back hit the forest floor, her body slamming into his chest. The shadow fled deeper into the park.

“So,” Devon said. His lashes brushed her cheek and his words warmed her ear. One of his hands curled around her hip. “I guess someone is trying to take me out.”