The room absorbed that, the implications settling like sediment.
"So what do we do?" Irish's fingers drummed against the table, restless energy looking for an outlet. "We can't just let him walk in and out whenever he feels like it."
"We increase security at the gate. ID checks for anyone we don't recognize." Hawk straightened, some of the fury banking into something colder, more controlled. "We run his plates, pull whatever background we can find. And we make it clear to the Wolves that there are lines they don't want to cross."
"How do we make that clear without starting a war?" Axel's question hung in the air.
"Carefully." Hawk looked around the table. "For now, we watch and wait. Cross is probing, testing our defenses. We don't give him the reaction he wants. But the next time he or any Wolf sets foot on our property uninvited, we make sure they understand the consequences."
The meeting broke up with assignments distributed—security rotations, background checks, surveillance schedules. I took my tasks and headed for the door, my mind already churning through logistics and contingencies.
Axel caught my arm as I passed.
"You put yourself between Tyler and the garage." His voice was low, private. "Before you even knew it was Cross."
I stopped. Looked at him.
"I saw it from the bay." Axel's expression was unreadable. "The way you moved. Like you were protecting him."
"I was assessing the threat."
"You were shielding him. There's a difference."
He let go of my arm and walked away before I could respond.
I found Tyler in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall.
The door was open—he'd left it that way, or hadn't bothered to close it, or maybe didn't have the energy for something as simple as reaching for a handle. The room was dim, the curtains drawn against the afternoon sun, and in the half-light he looked like something carved from grief.
He didn't look up when I knocked on the doorframe. Didn't react when I stepped inside. He just sat there, hands clasped between his knees, his whole body radiating a stillness that felt less like calm and more like collapse.
"Church is over. Hawk's increasing security. ID checks at the gate, surveillance on the Wolves, the whole nine yards."
Tyler nodded, a small motion that barely qualified as acknowledgment.
"You okay?"
Silence.
I stepped further into the room, taking in thesparse furnishings—bed, dresser, nightstand, nothing on the walls. It looked like a place someone slept, not a place someone lived. No different from my own room, really.
"Tyler."
"He didn't look at me." Tyler's voice was hollow, stripped of emotion. "He stood three feet away, and he didn't look at me. Like I wasn't even there. Like I didn't exist."
"That was the point. He was trying to get in your head."
"It worked." A brittle laugh escaped him. "It worked, Tank. He knows exactly how to—" He stopped, shook his head. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters."
"Why?" Tyler finally looked up, and his eyes were dark, haunted. "Why does it matter to you? I'm not your problem. I'm not your anything. I'm just some guy who showed up three months ago, and you've done nothing but—" He cut himself off, jaw tight.
"Nothing but what?"
"Nothing but be there." The words came out raw, almost angry. "Every morning in the garage. Every riding lesson. Standing up for me in church, putting yourself between me and—" He gestured vaguely toward the window, toward the lot where Cross had been. "Why? What do you want from me?"
"I don't want anything from you."
