The room snaps back. Clubhouse. Mississippi. I exhale. Let her touch anchor me. Her thumb strokes once. She holds on.
Phoenix continues. "Security rotates every four hours. We time the changeover."
I force myself to track his words. The phantom weight on my shoulder fades by degrees. Malachi's eyes cut to me briefly, a check, back to Phoenix.
Malachi leans forward. "Entry points. Who takes what?"
My chest unlocks. Sloane's grip stays firm on my wrist until Phoenix rolls up the blueprints. The conversation shifts to local operations without ceremony.
"I'll stay," Amelia says. Calm, decided. "Here. Willowridge. This is where it makes sense."
Kyle's head turns toward her. His whole posture lifts, a reaction that's too immediate to be anything but instinct. He justmet her twenty minutes ago and he's already rearranging. "So you're staying?"
"Yes."
A breath that could be relief. "That's good. That's really good."
Nash shakes his head. "Careful, kid."
Kyle doesn't look at him. "I am being careful."
Malachi's fists curl against the bar, flatten. "You're sure?"
Amelia meets his gaze without blinking. "I'm sure."
Kyle edges closer. "If you're setting up here, I can help. Whatever you need."
Frankie raises an eyebrow. "Kyle."
Hands up. "I'm offering. Politely."
Amelia studies him. Accepts with a single tilt of her chin. "We'll see."
Kyle beams.
Felix steps closer to Phoenix. "I'll make sure the transition stays clean."
Phoenix inclines his head. "You'll have what you need."
Arden says, "No improvising."
Kyle groans. "That word is haunting me."
"Good," Frankie replies. "Means it's working."
McKenzie touches Sloane's arm. "Can I steal you for a second?"
Sloane looks at me. I nod once. My hand lingers on her back as she steps away.
McKenzie speaks softly, posture open. They move toward the far end of the bar, heads bent together. I can't hear the words, but I watch Sloane's body. She goes rigid first. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth. Her shoulders shake once, hard, and she grabs the edge of the bar with her free hand. McKenzie's hand finds Sloane's forearm. Firm, steady. She leans closer, mouth near Sloane's ear.
Sloane drops her hand from her mouth. Her eyes are red and wet; her chin is trembling. She nods. Again. Flattens her palm against her sternum, breathing through it. McKenzie leans in, and Sloane's whole face crumbles. Just for a second. She blinks hard, swallows, sets her lips in a line.
A shaky laugh escapes. She wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand. McKenzie touches her forearm once more, briefly but sure, withdraws. When Sloane comes back, she steps into my space, forehead to my chest, fingers curling into my shirt.
"Anna's safe," she murmurs. Her voice is thick. "She's with them. She chose it. McKenzie said she's working. Even has a place. She's okay, Knox. She's actually okay."
I slide my arm around her and squeeze her gently. Anna. The name Sloane can't say without her hands shaking.
