And then, just as quickly, something colder slips in.
Not a full thought. Just a shadow of one.
Russel.
It’s enough to make my grip tighten around Dex, my fingers curling into his jacket as a chill skims down my spine, sharp and unwelcome against the warmth of his body in front of me.
I swallow it down before it can grow, before it can take shape into something louder.
He hasn’t found me.
Not yet.
And I’m not losing this.
The engine roars to life beneath us, low and powerful, vibrating through the frame and into my bones. His hand comes back, covering mine where it rests against him, giving it a firm, grounding squeeze.
“Ready, Tinker?” he calls over his shoulder.
I smile against the back of his jacket, tightening my hold just a little.
“Always.”
And then we take off, the wind rushing past us, carrying us forward into whatever comes next.
???
Dex slows the bike as we pull up in front of a building that does not look like a bar at first glance.
It’s older. Weathered brick softened by time, tall arched windows stretching up the front, their glass catching the last of the fading light. A flickering sign hangs above the entrance, the kind that has probably been there for decades, the letters worn but still proud enough to hold their place.
A theater.
Or at least it used to be.
I glance at him as I slide off the bike, pulling off my helmet, my brows knitting slightly. “You’re taking me to a show?”
He just smirks, that knowing look tugging at his mouth again, and takes the helmet from my hands. “Somethin’ like that.”
Before I can ask anything else, he takes my hand and leads me inside.
The moment the doors open, the world shifts.
Warmth wraps around me first, thick and golden, carrying the scent of aged wood, whiskey, and something faintly sweet I can’t quite place. Music spills through the space, rich and full, the kind that settles into your chest instead of just brushing past your ears.
I step in slowly, my eyes adjusting to the low light, and then I see it.
The theater is still there.
But it has been transformed.
Where rows of seats should be, there are tables now, small, round, scattered across the main floor, each lit by soft amber lamps that cast flickering shadows across polished wood. People sit close together, drinks in hand, heads tipped toward the stage like they’ve all been pulled in by the same invisible thread.
The balcony above curves around the room, railings lined with more tables, more low lights glowing like stars caught indoors. The high ceilings stretch overhead, painted details just visible in the dimness, remnants of what this place used to be.
And at the center of it all, the stage.
A band is already playing, guitar strings humming, drums steady, a voice carrying through the room like it belongs there. Like this place was built for it.
