When the waitress came over, Ren ordered coffee. Black. No sugar.
“Where you headed?” the waitress asked, voice rough with smoke.
Ren met her eyes. “Nowhere that matters.”
The woman snorted, poured, walked away. That was fine. Silence served her better.
She wrapped her hands around the mug. Warm. Solid. Real.
The chain in her pocket clinked softly as she shifted. That sound grounded her—metal and memory.
The door opened again. Cold air slid in with a man wearing a denim jacket and the look of someone who slept in the cab of his truck more than a bed. His eyes skimmed the room, landed on her, then dropped quick. Respect or fear—hard to tell. He took the stool two seats down and waved for coffee.
Ren let the quiet fill the room.
The dragon whispered. One of Sac’s lines knows this place.
She lifted her gaze to the trucker. “You run I-84 often?”
He paused mid-sip. “Who’s asking?”
“Just another driver looking for clear roads.”
He studied her for a moment, then leaned closer. “Roads ain’t clear. Not lately. Got vans ridin’ without plates, same black every time. Locals call ’em Ghost Runners. Heard they ain’t moving freight—just people.”
Ren’s stomach tightened. “Boise to where?”
“Down to the border, far as I can tell. Seen ’em gas up outside Nampa, full crew, clean suits. Not biker business—too neat for that. Smells like money.”
“Fuckin’ Sanchez,” Ren muttered.
The trucker frowned. “What?”
“Nothin’. Go on.”
He scratched his beard. “One of ’em asked me directions last week. Said he was lookin’ for ‘the golden gate.’ I told him I didn’t know about no gate. He didn’t like that answer.”
“Golden gate,” she echoed. “That’s not a town?”
“Nope. Not that I know of.”
The dragon hummed low. “A codename.”
Ren nodded once. “Appreciate it.”
The man studied her again, something cautious flickering in his eyes. “You one of them Bastards? Royal colors?”
She didn’t flinch. “You askin’ to make friends or enemies?”
“Neither. Just want to know which way to stay outta the crossfire.”
That earned him a real smile, small, dangerous. “Then keep to the slow lane.”
He laughed, low and nervous. “Yeah. Thought so.”
The waitress drifted by again. “Coffee refill?”
“Please.”
