Page 242 of What We Become

I walk to the window and look down at the small group of people assembling in the backyard—those who understand both our relationship and our world. So essentially, it’s a small gathering of Hunter Harbor’s underbelly. No one who needs us to hide what we’ve become.

My eyes follow Micah and Ray adjusting the chairs, touching and retouching the spacing and orientation by a quarter inch at a time. Knox is standing with Milo at the catering table, listening to Milo chatter about cheese cubes and looking painfully bored. Holden stands in the shade of the arch, consulting his phone and shooting looks at the backyard like he’s expecting an assassination attempt. Eli sits alone on the deck steps, sunglasses shielding his eyes, holding a water bottle between his knees.

He looks like he’s trying not to combust. His suit is perfect black, his shoes perfectly shined, his hands shaking just a little on the bottle.

“Looks like you’re not the only one who’s nervous,” Amy says, standing next to me. “They all look so handsome in their matching suits.”

“They really do, don’t they?” My breath fogs the glass.

Five months into owning the diner, I still work the floor. Danny has changed the menu, with one condition from me: no more cherry pie. Gary is gone—retired to a golf community in Florida, funded by whatever Odin paid him to step aside quietly. Rosa, Danny, and I run the place together. They know its rhythms better than anyone, and I want them making decisions with me and earning the same pay I do. It’s their home too.

Eli went back to school with fading bruises and his wrists still bandaged. Zara, the five-year-old who runs his classroom with an iron fist and a glitter fixation, asked if he’d been in a fight. He said he fell. She said, “You really should be more careful, Mr. Ward,” with the grave authority of a tiny CEO, and he kept a straight face for approximately four seconds before excusing himself to laugh in the supply closet.

The Hangmen are operational. New targets, new assignments, the machinery turning the way it always has. Five successful operations in the last three months—clean, quiet, the type of work that doesn’t make the news. Odin seems satisfied, though with Odin “satisfied” and “plotting” look identical.

And Amy.

Well, she’s right here being my best friend the way she’s been since the day she let me crash on her couch with nothing but a duffel bag and a bad history.

She’s also leaving.

The lease for an apartment in the city is already signed. In three weeks, she’s moving in with an influencer named Bree, whose TikTok following is now at four hundred thousand, and who once cried because her avocado was “emotionally unavailable.” Not really who I pictured when Amy announced she found a new roommate. But Amy can get along with anyone, so I think it’ll work out great.

At least I hope it does. Amy says the move is so she can figure out who she is now—away from all the murder and the body disposal and the twins she can’t seem to quit.

And honestly, I get it. This vigilante world we’ve found ourselves in isn’t easy. As much as I want her to stay, I know I can’t ask that of her.

I’m gonna miss having her so close, though. I’m sure Dean and Drake will miss her like crazy too—I hope they can still make it work.

“Finished with your champagne?” Amy asks, and I realize I’ve drained the glass. I hand it to her and go back to people watching.

Below us, the backyard is small and full.

Gloria stands beneath the arch in a sky-blue dress and heels that add three inches she doesn’t need, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, a leather-bound folder in her hands that she’s had custom-embossed with the date. Because Gloria doesn’t do anything without ceremony.

The dads sit in the front row—Dennis in a Hawaiian shirt that he was explicitly told not to wear and wore anyway, Gene in a pressed suit with a handkerchief he’s already using, Ray in dark clothes looking smart. Behind them sit the stepdads: Earl Harden from the hardware store, and Hank—beard trimmed, wearing an actual tie, and the reason there’s nothing left of Stephen to find.

Dean and Drake are in the second row, a seat between them for Amy when she comes down. Beside me at the glass, Amy looks at them both a second too long and then looks at her shoes.

Speaking of criminals, Odin is standing at the back, near the fence, in a bespoke dark suit. Thor and Loki stand beside him. Loki says something that makes Thor’s mouth twitch, and Odin rests a hand between Loki’s shoulders as he looks toward the arch.

I’ve sat across from all three with target files between us. It’s nice seeing them without somebody’s imminent murder on the agenda.

Gloria beckons the guys beneath the arch. Eli gets to his feet, and the others abandon their self-appointed jobs to join him.

The music starts.

“Ready?” Amy asks.

“No.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

I turn from the window and follow her down the hall.

“Careful with your dress on the stairs,” Amy says, moving beside me. I gather the skirt, but the banister catches the edge of my tulle anyway. I almost eat it on the first step, but Amy catches my elbow.

“You got it. Just breathe.”