I leave before I say something reckless.
The yard is loud again.Engines.Orders.Motion.But the pressure inside me is gone.For now.And as I move back into the chaos, one thing is painfully clear.Raven isn’t a distraction.She’s a release valve, a safe space, and somewhere I don’t have to constantly be ‘on.’
And that might be the most dangerous thing in my world.
Chapter Eight
The Return
Raven
They come back too fast.
That’s the first sign something’s wrong, not sirens, not shouting, not blood on the ground.Speed.The way engines cut and men move with purpose instead of swagger.The way voices are clipped, precise, already prioritizing before anyone says a word.
I’m on my feet before I fully register the sound.
The gates swing open and bikes roll in with a tight formation, not scattered, not loud.No one grandstands.No one jokes.Fury jumps off first, helmet barely off before he’s shouting for Tyler.Steel is already dismounting, hands red and jaw set.
Ghost is between them.He’s conscious but barely.That matters.
He’s slung awkwardly between two bikes, his weight supported wrong, boots dragging like his body forgot how to cooperate.His face is gray under the grime, sweat beading at his hairline despite the cold bite in the air.
I don’t freeze.That will surprise me later.Now, I move.
“Inside,” I say, voice steady, louder than I feel.“Clear the infirmary.Now.”
Men listen.That too will surprise me later when I take a moment to think about it.
Right now, I’m already crossing the concrete, already bracing Ghost’s other side, already cataloging injuries without touching them yet.Blood seeps through his shirt at the ribs, dark and slow.Not arterial.Thank God.
“Easy,” I tell him as we shift him.“You’re still here.”
His mouth twitches.“Didn’t ...plan on leaving.”
“Good,” I reply.“That would’ve been inconvenient.I’ve almost got you housebroken.”
