My shoulders tense.
Lenrog’s voice softens, almost amused. “That was not a threat.”
“It sounded like one.”
“Most things do, to men in love.”
I do not answer.
I walk out through the restaurant, past blue tile, candlelight, expensive perfume, and quiet conversations pretending not to notice me. The host nods as I pass. Outside, rain has thinned into mist, and downtown glitters like a blade washed clean.
I stand beneath the awning and open my hand.
The card sits in my palm, black with silver lettering.
A number. Nothing else.
I could crush it. I should crush it.
Instead, I put it in my pocket.
The walk back to Halo takes longer than expected because I avoid transit and need the movement. Downtown’s clean streets give way slowly to patched pavement, flickering lamps, aging signs, and the salt-stained grit of the industrial district. The air worsens by degrees. Less perfume. More engine smoke. More wet rust. More truth.
By the time Sweet Tooth’s blue tooth sign comes into view, my anger has cooled into something more useful and more dangerous.
Thought.
The bakery windows glow softly. Evie is inside, visible through the glass, wiping tables after closing though she should be resting. Darlene stands near the register gesturing with a cigarette while Evie laughs at whatever insult has just been delivered. The repaired display case hums along the wall, full of tomorrow’s pastries.
Home is not the right word.
It is too large. Too presumptuous.
Still, something inside me moves toward it.
I stop across the street.
Lenrog is right about one thing. Strength alone will not keep this place safe. Fists will not repair supply routes or stop inspectors or prevent Ron from choosing softer targets. I know violence. Lenrog knows systems. If I want peace, I must learn the terrain beyond battle.
Inside, Evie looks toward the window as if she senses me.
Our eyes meet through rain-streaked glass.
She smiles.
The entire night changes.
I am in love with her.
The thought arrives without permission, without ceremony, without any remaining room for denial.
I do not say it. I am not ready to put a word that dangerous into the air.
But I know.
I cross the street toward the bakery, carrying Savio Lenrog’s card in my pocket and Evie Mercy’s smile under my ribs like a wound I hope never heals.
CHAPTER 19
