By the second day, it’s under my skin.
I’m in the main room with Bricks and Moth when I catch Oisín at the bar with Tally, Demo, and one of Pike’s gate men. He’s listening to Demo describe something with both hands moving, his coffee untouched near his elbow, his posture relaxed enough that no one else would call him distant. Tally says something that makes him smile. The smile is real. Soft, brief, warm enough to remind me of the first thing I noticed about him before I knew his name, before the club, before Canon, before rings and blood and logistics turned wanting into a territorial problem.
Then Demo says something else, and Oisín laughs.
My hand tightens around the route sheet. Moth stops mid-sentence. “That page is the revised support schedule, not Cade’s neck.”
Bricks looks over. “Same grip, though.”
I flatten the paper onto the table. “Continue.”
Moth glances toward the bar, then back to me. “The support schedule is stable if we keep the false adjustment visible through tomorrow evening. After that, Canon may realize we’re not moving enough personnel to match the supposed Maverick threat.”
“Then we let him think we’re understaffed,” I say. “Pull from the north only on paper. Keep bodies staged behind the mill.”
Bricks gives a low whistle. “That’ll make him feel smart.”
“That’s the point.”
Moth marks something on his tablet. “Oisín suggested the same staging position.”
“Of course he did.”
Bricks’ attention swings back to me with too much interest. “You say that like you’re annoyed he’s right.”
“I’m annoyed everyone keeps telling me he’s right like I didn’t notice first.”
The conversation moves on, though I can’t focus on anything other than Oisín’s smiles and soft laughter. Oisín gave up blood for this club, and I’ve been treating the aftermath like another system to stabilize. Keep him protected. Keep him busy. Keep the routes sealed. Keep Canon away. Keep Sol from sniffing too close to the place where Oisín has become necessary.
I have done everything except ask what it cost him.
Shit.
The moment Oisín catches me looking, he pushes away from the bar and heads down the hall to our unofficial meeting place when everything goes wrong. I drag a hand down my face and then follow him, needing to know what’s changed.
The door is cracked open enough for me to step through, closing it behind me, confusion getting the best of me. “Talk to me, Sín.”
He tilts his head to the side, remaining quiet, his hands down by his side. I almost step up to him and pull him into something we both know he won’t let me finish. As much as I value submission and Oisín giving in, I don’t like coercion.
“You’re doing good. Moth really likes you,” I offer.
Oisín lets out a strained laugh. “That’s not what I need from you.”
I lean back against the door, arms crossing because my body reaches for defense before my mind decides whether there’s a threat. “Then tell me what you need.”
His eyes move over me, not with anger at first. Tiredness, maybe. Hurt worn down into something calmer and more dangerous. “I handed you my father’s plan.”
“I know.”
“I handed you Varina’s too.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t wait this time. I didn’t sit with it until guilt made the choice for me. I came straight back, and now everyone is moving because I did.” His voice stays even, but I can hear the strain underneath. “You know what that means.”
“It means you saved lives.”
“It means I chose.”
