I stood, my mind already drifting back to Lock’s face whether I wanted it to or not. The weight of his stare. The way the air in the room had changed when he’d walked past me.
And for the first time all day, my dad wasn’t the one I was thinking about anymore.
I didn’t say anything else as I backed away from the desk. Dad watched me like he expected me to argue again, but I kept my voice steady and nodded toward the tray.
“You want me to clear this up?” I asked quietly.
He glanced at it and shook his head. “No. Leave it.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” His tone eased just a fraction. “Thanks for bringing it. I’ll eat in a bit.”
I nodded. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
I slipped out and shut the door gently behind me—not because he needed quiet, but because I needed a second to breathe. I pressed my palm to the wood, closed my eyes, and tried to shove down the mix of anger, worry, and that sharp, buzzing thing I didn’t want to name.
Lock had been here. In Dad’s office. In our territory.
Whatever that meeting was, it hadn’t ended clean.
The prospect outside the door jumped a little when he saw me. “Everything good?”
“Define good,” I said. I tried for a smile. It felt thin.
He winced. “That bad, huh?”
I shrugged. “Just club business.”
He snorted. “That what they call it?”
“It’s what they’ve always called it.”
As I walked down the hallway, the difference hit me harder. On a normal day, you’d hear the distant grind of tools from Reaper Auto Works, the junkyard gates clanging, guys yelling over a game or a song on the jukebox. Today, all of that felt… muted. The same sounds were there, but softer… like everyone had turned the volume down and started listening for something else. Even the fluorescent lights seemed too bright against how quiet the voices were.
I reached the end of the hall and stepped into the common room. A few members sat at the table, cards scattered between them, though none of them were really looking at their hands. Their heads snapped up when they saw me.
“Everything alright, kid?” Razor asked, pushing his chair back with a scrape.
“As alright as it ever is,” I said.
He hummed, clearly not buying it. “Wrecker looked like he swallowed a grenade.”
“That’s just his face.”
“Heard the gate open twice,” another member said. “Did someone leave?”
I swallowed. “Lock.”
The room went still.
Someone let out a low whistle. “Crimson Havoc Lock?”
“No,” I deadpanned. “The other Lock.”
Razor swore under his breath.
Nobody asked why he’d been here. They all knew better. But the shift in their expressions told me enough—whatever Dad wasn’t telling me? He wasn’t telling them either.
