It was just a run. Just a run. With plenty of people around. Everything would be okay.

It was just a run.

Sophia kept repeating those words to herself as she tied up her running shoes, trying to keep herself calm. Jamie had assured her that plenty of people would be running in Central Park on a Saturday in the late morning, which is the only reason why Sophia could bring herself to even think about going out to exercise. People meant nothing could happen to her. Nothing Graham related, anyway.

The full heat and humidity of summer hadn't hit New York City yet, for which Sophia was eternally grateful for. She desperately hoped that the F.B.I. would get her out of this whole mess before that. Forget serial killers, for someone who grew up in the California Bay Area, humidity was the real monster.

Jamie had been right. As Sophia powerwalked to the park, everyone and their mother was out, walking their dogs, walking with each other, or just walking. And when she arrived at the paved loop that went circled within Central Park, she relaxed just the tiniest bit.

It almost looked like a race was going on, that's how many people were out for their weekend run. She spotted anyone ranging in age from fourteen to eighty, moving at barely faster than a walk to seemingly trying to emulate The Flash.

People. People would keep her safe.

Keep her safe from attack. Nothing could save her from the fact that she hadn't regularly worked out since college.

Sure, working as an E.D. nurse meant that she walked over ten thousand steps a day, and she tried to mostly eat healthy, although she had definitely lost weight over the last month. But after five minutes at a healthy jog, Sophia was about ready to pass out.

But she didn't. And she didn't stop. She kept going and going, not caring about everyone who passed her because at least she was here, doing something, instead of wallowing in her apartment.

She was too focused on her breathing to think about Dean. Too focused on her screaming leg muscles to think about Graham. Too focused on the way sweat streamed down her face and neck to think about how much she missed working as a nurse.

Three miles in, she finally stopped, heaving in her breaths, leaning her hands on her knees. Okay, maybe she needed to do that more often.

Sophia made her way back to Central Park West and faced north. Damn it. Now she had to walk back.

She grabbed a bottle of water from a street cart, and once her body gained some of its energy back, it was actually an enjoyable walk. Trees lined the sidewalk and she got a close-up look at the multitude of dogs, ranging from giant Great Danes to tiny chihuahuas. Bicyclists whizzed by, most of whom were taking food from restaurant to consumer, and ambulances and firetrucks raced by, sirens blaring. As a city, the vibe was completely different from L.A., and Sophia didn't completely hate it. Everyone minded their own business as they went about trying to get to where they wanted to go, not overly rude but not overly friendly, either.

The hairs on the back of Sophia's neck rose, her skin prickling. An uneasy feeling drifted through and settled in her stomach. Without trying to be completely obvious, Sophia glanced behind her, her blood freezing in her veins when she saw the car.

It wasn't in a lane, in fact, it was in the bike lane, moving at about five miles an hour with its hazard lights on. Altogether, not the strangest sight ever in New York. But as Sophia moved block after block, the car still trailing obviously behind her, her terror grew.

It couldn't be him. How could he dare be this obvious? How could he dare be this obvious, again? Sophia picked up the pace, clutching her now empty water bottle in her hand as she broke out into a jog, the adrenalin surging through her body erasing any exhaustion from her run.

The car increased speed.

At the next light with a walk sign, Sophia cut west and then doubled back, hoping to lose the tail. The last thing she wanted to do was lead whoever it was back to where she was staying.

Sophia ran at full speed, sprinting down the sidewalk. In L.A., she definitely would have attracted some curious stares. In New York, no one gave a shit.

The car didn't follow.

But Sophia didn't stop, not daring to head straight back to her apartment but instead weaving around the blocks of New York, eventually reaching the Hudson River. After fifteen minutes of no car sightings, she slowed to a walk, her heart hammering in her chest for more reasons than just the physical exertion.

Keeping her head on a swivel, she made it back to her apartment without incident. Her muscles screamed for oxygen as she climbed the stairs, the fading adrenalin robbing her body of any and all energy. By the time she collapsed on her IKEA couch, she wanted to pass out.

Of course, then the panic attack started to creep in on the edge of her brain. Her breathing grew labored, her heart rate jumping, and fear and anxiety flooded her brain. He almost had her. He would have gotten her. Oh, God, he knew where she was.

I'll always be able to find you, Sophia. You're mine. And there's nothing you can do about it.

Her brain managed to release one last stream of adrenalin as she heard a knock on her door, jolting her out of the attack and even making her forget about the bad thought that had been running through her head. Sophia nearly jumped out of her skin and she did jump off of her couch, landing in a crouch on the floor.

"Open the door, it's just me," Jamie's voice rang out.

"We really need a secret knock or something," Sophia grumbled to herself as she went to let Jamie in.

The F.B.I. Agent took in her appearance as she brushed past Sophia into the living room. "So, finally did something on the weekend?" she teased her.

Yeah, and was likely never going to do it again after what happened. "I went for a run," Sophia said shortly.

"Well, I have news."

Sophia's eyes rounded, all thoughts of the car evaporating from her mind. "News? What kind of news?"

"Sit down," Jamie said, "you look like you're going to fall over."

Sophia joined her on the couch, leaning forward with anticipation.

"Relax, we haven't caught him yet," Jamie said. "But Travers thinks he's close. He's in Chicago right now."

"Travers is in Chicago?" Sophia asked. "Or Graham's in Chicago?"

"Travers is in Chicago because we're fairly certain Graham's in Chicago," Jamie clarified. "We're closing in on him."

"Fairly certain?" Sophia asked. "How certain is fairly certain?"

"Certain enough that Travers went to Chicago," Jamie said flatly.

That wasn't particularly reassuring.

"We have a bank transaction and a few eyewitnesses," Jamie elaborated with a sigh.

"You think he's stupid enough to do that?"

"I think he's cocky enough to do that."

"And there's no chance he's here? In New York?"

Jamie narrowed her eyes. "Why would you think that?"

Sophia balled her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms. "Something might have happened." She quickly took the F.B.I. Agent through what happened on her run, Jamie's expression almost unchanging through the whole thing except for the tightening of her jawline.

"Did you see what kind of car it was?"

"Black, a Nissan, I think."

"Any chance you got a license plate?"

To Sophia's own surprise, she rattled off the numbers and letters easily. Apparently, her subconscious knew what to look for.

Jamie jotted down a few notes and then nodded. "I'll look into it," she said. "You should probably stay put for the rest of the weekend. But it's probably nothing. Nothing has indicated that he's here, and stranger things have happened in this city."

"I know," Sophia said. "I just, it seems like too much of a coincidence."

"If you want to order food, do it under my name," Jamie advised. "And I'll get back to you before you have to go to work on Monday."

"Thanks."

Jamie stood and put her hand on Sophia's shoulder. "Hang in there, Sophia," she said. "You did the right thing by telling me, and in a day or two we're going to find out that the explanation behind what happened is the most New York thing ever, okay?"

Sophia nodded, not really buying her optimism but appreciating it all the same. But it was only when the door slammed shut after Jamie left that Sophia realized she forgot to ask the agent about a secret knock.

Then, she swallowed hard. That had been the first bad thought she had had since getting to New York. The first one in almost a year.

"Fuck you, Graham," she whispered into herself. Then she grabbed a pillow and buried her face into it. "Fuck you!" she screamed.