Before I left for the military at eighteen, trying to find purpose.
Before I came back eight years later, broken and bitter.
Before I saw her with Devin and realized I'd waited too long to tell her how I felt.
I order our usual—egg rolls, kung pao chicken (extra spicy), beef with broccoli, white rice, and wait at the counter, scanning the restaurant out of habit. Old couple by the window. Family with three kids in the corner booth. Teenage servers looking bored as they refill water glasses.
Normal. Peaceful. Everything the war wasn't.
Everything the club isn't, with its constant power struggles and tenuous alliances.
My phone buzzes with a text from Knight: *Reaper filled me in. Need eyes on the target?*
Knight is like me. Former military. A man worth trusting.
I text back: *Could use background. Devin Mercer. Owns auto shop on Pine Street. Need to know habits, associates, if he's strapped.*
The response comes quickly: *On it. Will update you later.*
I pay for the food and head back to the motel, the smell of Chinese filling the air around me as I ride. It's nearly dark now, the sun setting behind the mountains that cradle Hope Peak. The same mountains that used to feel like they were closing in on me, trapping me here.
Now they feel protective somehow. A natural barrier between Olivia and the wider world. A world that's harder and crueler than she knows.
I park in front of the room and knock three times, our old signal from when I'd climb through her window in high school when I needed to escape my father's drunken rages.
"It's me, Liv."
The door opens immediately, like she's been waiting right beside it. Maybe she has.
"That smells amazing," she says, stepping back to let me in. "I didn't realize how hungry I was."
I set the food on the small table and shrug off my cut, laying it over the chair again. Olivia busies herself opening containers, the familiar routine somehow making this strange situation feel almost normal.
"Did you get—"
"Extra duck sauce? Yeah." I pull the packets from the bag, along with plastic utensils and napkins.
She smiles, a real smile this time. "You remember."
"Like I said, I remember everything." I keep my tone light, but the weight of the words hangs between us.
The familiar food brings back memories of simpler times. I watch Olivia gradually relax, some of the wariness leaving her posture as she focuses on the meal.
"This was a good idea," she says finally. "I haven't had Golden Dragon in months." A shadow crosses her face. "Devin doesn't like Chinese food."
Of course he doesn't. Probably doesn't like anything that brings her joy.
"His loss," I say simply, passing her another egg roll. "More for us."
She takes it, her fingers brushing mine in the process. The brief contact sends a jolt through me that I try to ignore. Now isn't the time. Maybe it never will be.
"Tell me about your students," I say, deliberately changing the subject to something that might make her happy. "You're teaching third grade now, right?"
Her face lights up immediately. "Yes! How did you know?"
"Small town," I shrug. "News travels."
In truth, I'd asked about her a few times when I called my old neighbor Mrs. Peterson to check on her. The old woman had been happy to fill me in on Olivia's teaching career, though thankfully she'd been oblivious to the abuse. If she'd mentioned that, I would have returned to Hope Peak much sooner.
