“Soon.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
After a moment, he says quietly, “I thought I was dead.”
I freeze.
“In the crash,” he continues. “I remember sliding. Sound of metal. Then nothin’. Just black.”
I turn back to him. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.” His gaze drifts to the ceiling. “Feels weird.”
“Give it time.”
He nods slowly.
I check the clock. Visiting hours are almost up. “I should go,” I say.
He looks annoyed. “Already?”
“I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“You better.”
“I will.”
As I turn towards the door, he calls out, “Bear.”
I stop.
“If you’re in trouble,” he says, voice rougher now, more serious. “You tell me.”
I look back at him.
“I ain’t helpless,” he adds. “Not forever.”
I nod once. “I know.”
I step out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind me.
***
There’s barely any room in Zen’s office. There are monitors everywhere—stacked, wall-mounted, jury-rigged on shelves that bow under the weight of hardware Zen keeps swearing he’ll organize someday. Right now, every screen is dark except one laptop glowing faintly on his desk.
That’s where we’re gathered.
Siege is leaning against the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Rider sits half on the edge of the desk, half standing, like he’s ready to move the second someone gives the word. A few other brothers—Tank, Dutch, Rigs—are scattered around the room, making the already crowded space even more so.
I’m sitting on the roll-out stool, my shoulders tight, my jaw tighter.
“Nat checked in this morning,” I say, breaking the silence. “She’s still not found anything, but they buy her story.”
Siege nods once. “That’s good.”
“Doesn’t mean I like it,” I mutter.
No one argues with me on that.
