Chapter 122

The laughter that followed settled something inside me that had been tense all day. I used to think comfort came from silence. Now I knew it came from voices. People. Places that felt lived in.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded note. Everyone at the table stilled without meaning to.

“Can I see it?” Jess asked quietly.

I hesitated only a moment before handing it to him. Jess opened it carefully, like it was fragile enough to crumble. His jaw tightened a little as his eyes skimmed the words.

He handed it back. “That looks like her handwriting,” he said.

“How do you know what her handwriting looked like?” I asked.

Jess shifted his weight, something flickering across his expression. Regret. Or guilt. Or something between the two.

“I saw old paperwork from the compound years ago,” Jess said. “Before the raid. Before everything went to hell. I recognized it.”

I studied him. “Jess,” I said softly. “Did you know more about her than you told me?”

He held my gaze. “I knew enough to know Skye lied about her. I knew enough to know you deserved the truth. I just did not know when you were ready for it.”

My stomach dipped. “Is that why you kept the photo and the letter?”

His eyes warmed. “I kept them because your mother wanted you to have them. That mattered.”

I nodded, throat thick.

“What about the second note?” Reif asked. “The one Mace gave you.”

Jess rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Mace always knew more than he let on. He has been trying to surface the truth for years.”

“Why now?” I asked.

“Because the men who silenced him are dead,” Jess answered. “And the only ones left standing are the ones who need to hear it.”

A silence settled around the table. Not heavy. Not dark. Just full.

Torin brushed his thumb along the inside of my wrist. It steadied me.

“So what do I do with this?” I asked.

Tannin leaned her elbows on the table. “You take what feels like truth and let the rest fall away.”

Reif nodded. “You start fresh.”

Rook pointed at me with his coffee mug. “You let us help you.”

I swallowed hard. “I want to.”

Torin touched my knee. “Then you are already doing it,” he said.

I breathed in slowly, letting their faces steady me. Jess. Rook. Tannin. Reif. Torin. My circle. My constants.

I looked down at the letter again and folded it carefully.

“I think,” I said, “maybe I am ready to let the past stay where it is.”

Rook nodded. “Good. Because the present is a lot less stupid.”

Torin laughed under his breath. “He is not wrong.”

I smiled and stood, tucking the note back into my sketchbook. My fingers brushed the edge of the pages, familiar and grounding.

Before I could sit again, Torin’s phone buzzed on the counter. He reached for it, glanced at the screen, then looked up at me with a slow, thoughtful expression.

“It is Burdock,” he said.

My heart skipped.

Tannin whispered, “Oh. That cannot be random.”

Jess leaned forward. “What does he want?”

Torin tapped the screen, eyes still on me. “He wants to meet.”

The whole room stilled.

And something inside me whispered that the past was not done talking yet.

~ MARLOWE ~

I stared at Torin like the name on his phone was a ghost come to knock on our door. In a way, it was. Burdock had been a legend in my childhood, even if I was too young to understand the shape of it. I remembered the patch on his vest, the thunder of his voice when he barked orders, the way grown men straightened at the sight of him. I remembered Ginger too. She had been warmth in a world that offered me very little of it.

But I had not seen either of them since I was maybe ten years old, hidden behind the kitchen counter while Ginger taught me how to make grilled cheese sandwiches when Skye was busy shouting at someone down the hallway. Burdock was the closest thing the Ravens had to a father figure. Ginger had been the closest thing I ever had to a mother without knowing the truth about my own.

My fingers curled around the back of the chair next to me. “What does he want?” I asked.

Torin slid his thumb across the phone and read the text again. “He says he is in town. He is asking if we can meet him at Montaro tomorrow evening.”

“Just you or both of us?” I asked.

His eyes lifted to mine. “Both.”

My heart beat once, hard enough to feel in my throat.

Jess leaned his hip against the counter. “That tracks,” he said. “Burdock never calls unless something matters.”

Rook took a slow sip of coffee, thoughtful in a way that somehow made him look older. “He would not reach out unless it was important. Or personal.”

Reif looked between us like he was watching a foreign film with no subtitles. “Who is Burdock?” he asked.

Tannin answered before anyone else could. “He is the president of the Ravens. Well, he was before the club dissolved. He was also Torin’s commanding officer. The highest authority they had.”

Reif’s eyebrows shot up. “So basically the boss of the boss of the boss.”

Jess nodded. “Pretty much.”

I felt Torin’s hand find mine. He squeezed it gently. “We do not have to go if you are not ready.”

I studied him. His voice carried no expectation, no pressure. He would cancel without hesitation if I asked. He would shield me from anything that hurt. He would take on the world if I whispered that I was scared.

But this was not something I could hide from. Not anymore.

“I think I want to go,” I said quietly.

Torin nodded once, his thumb brushing the back of my hand. “Then we will go.”

Rook clapped his hands together. “Good,” he said. “Because I am not about to tell Burdock that Marlowe Montaro is too scared to talk to him.”

I rolled my eyes. “I am still Marlowe Mills until the wedding.”

Rook smirked. “Semantics.”

Jess folded his arms. “Meeting Burdock might answer whatever Mace was hinting at.”