A faded safety sign.
Each tiny detail becomes a violation.
Each violation becomes leverage.
Upstairs—
Laney
I watch from the top of the stairs with Emmy in my arms.
Her head rests against my shoulder.
Warm.
Safe.
For now.
Below me, the inspectors move through the tavern like vultures picking bones.
They whisperto each other.
Pointing.
Photographing.
Writing things down.
The man in the suit gestures toward the kitchen.
“This needs correction.”
He moves to the bar.
“And this.”
Then to the storage room.
“And this is a violation.”
Saint doesn’t argue.
He just watches them.
Quiet.
Still.
Like he’s memorizing their faces.
Finally the man in the suit turns back to him.
“Given the number of deficiencies,” he says smoothly, “we’re issuing a temporary closure pending review.”
The room goes very quiet.
“You’re shutting us down,” Saint says.
