Page 12 of Priest

Her breath catches, eyes going shiny like she rehearsed it. “But you said you’d take care of us.”

Us.

“What time’s the appointment?” I ask tightly.

“Two-thirty,” she says, brightening instantly.

I stalk over to the appointment book and flip pages. Last client’s at one. Quick memorial piece. Script. I stare at the name longer than I should.

“Fine,” I say. “Meet me back here after. We’ll go in my truck.”

She pouts. “Your truck? Not your bike?”

I turn on her. “Sadie, you know the rules. The back of bikes is for Old Ladies.”

She steps closer, fingers sliding down my arm like she’s testing a boundary. “But we’ve got history. I’ve been on the back of your bike before, and soon I’ll be too big to ride anymore, I just wanted to be able to ride one more time before it’s too late.”

Ghost makes a low sound under his breath. “Guess I missed the part where pregnant women stopped worrying about what happens to the baby when a bike lays down.”

Sadie’s eyes cut to him. “Plenty of pregnant women ride.”

“Plenty of people do stupid shit,” he says, not looking up from his tablet. “Doesn’t make it smart.”

Her mouth tightens. “Some women ride right up until the end. I’m not even that big yet. That’s the point. I still fit.”

My patience snaps clean in half.

“You won’t be fitting on the back of my bike,” I say, voice low. “Not today. Not later. Not ever.”

Sadie turns back to me, the pout gone from her face.

I pull my arm free. “I said the truck. Now go. I’ve got an appointment coming in.”

She searches my face for something I’m not giving her, then finally turns and leaves.

I point at Ghost. “I want her found.”

He gestures toward the wreckage. “You also want a new credit card machine?”

I drag a hand down my face. “Yeah.”

He shakes his head as he heads for the door. “You don’t make this easy.”

“No,” I mutter. “I don’t.”

The shop settles into a heavy, buzzing quiet.

I stare at my station. The ink. The needles. The permanence of it all.

My phone buzzes in my pocket—not a notification, just my imagination replaying something it won’t let go of.

The text.

I don’t need to read it. I know it by heart.

I replay the text in my head for the hundredth time, like if I stare at it long enough it’ll change.

Blue: