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Without turning back, I leave the ante-room with my spine straight and my composure intact.

But as I step outside, I can’t ignore the sting of being overridden by a brother who trusts me completely and still won’t listen.

My phone sits heavy in my pocket, a single text away from destroying the life I’ve built here. All I have to do is warn Orien, tell him what’s coming, and everything I’ve worked for over the last eight years will be gone.

But no matter how much I disagree with Alexei’s decision, he trusted me with this mission because I’m his brother and the only person in the family whose loyalty he never questions.

I can’t betray that trust, no matter how much my heart protests.

I drive to the Blue Note in an old sedan, the engine still ticking when I leave it at the curb. The cold seeps through the seams of my jacket, but I don’t button it.

Inside, the bar is already half-full, the air spiked with heat and the slow pulse of a blues band starting their set. Light pools in amber puddles on the floor, soft around the edges.

Ghost glances up from behind the bar, his mismatched eyes meeting mine across the crowded space. He acknowledges me with a brief dip of his chin, then turns away to mix my usual drink without being asked. A whiskey sour appears at my preferred spot at the bar before I’ve even made it across the room.

I lift it and drink until it empties, the ice numbing my lips.

Without comment, he replaces it with a refill.

I lift it, but resist the urge to drain this one as well as I spin on my bar stool, the leather creaking beneath me.

The regulars are in their stations. The two older men with their chessboard, the taller one locked in a losing position and refusing to admit it. The corner booth is a tide of laughter, two Omegas and a Beta leaning into each other’s stories. A table by the stage is full of musicians waiting for their turn, shoes tapping in time with the band on stage.

I don’t search out Orien, but I’m aware of him, the way I’m aware of the exit sign. I always know where he is.

I sit with my drink and let the tension from the compound bleed out in increments. First in my hands, then my shoulders, then the clench of my jaw. I drain my second drink, and as I turn back around, I catch my reflection in the mirror behind the liquor shelf, and it startles me.

I had come here straight from the compound, and the black shirt, slicked-back hair, and absence of my usual sparkly clip are jarring. Levon doesn’t belong in this space, and it leaves me feeling out of place.

Ghost slides a glass of water down the bar toward me in a silent suggestion to slow down.

A few feet down, Petra fields a set of regulars who’ve decided to start their weekend early. She laughs, not at their jokes but at their persistence, always a half-beat ahead of their expectations. The whole bar is a choreography, and I’ve spent enough weeks here to have learned the steps.

The music picks up, the deep bass vibrating through me. A woman leans over her drink, half-hidden in shadow. Our eyes meet, and she lifts her glass in a micro-toast. I return her toast with my empty glass.

A hand lands on the bar beside mine, and Orien leans in, bringing with him the scent of smoke and a tang of clean sweat and fabric softener. “I thought you said you’d come back on Thursday.”

I hear the question under the words and turn to bury my face in his shoulder. “I couldn’t stay away.”

He cups the back of my neck, holding me there for a heartbeat before he tugs my head back.

He studies me. “You look tired.”

“I am,” I say, and the words come out truer than I mean them to.

He runs his other hand through my hair, mussing the careful styling. “What happened to your sparkle, trouble?”

“I lost it.”

He waits to see if I’ll say more.

I won’t. I can’t.

Orien takes the empty glass from my hand and sets it aside. “Want to talk about it?”

I open my mouth to refuse, then change my mind. “Not here.”

Orien studies me, and whatever he finds seems to reassure him. “My place is twenty minutes from here.”