Temporary.
Comprehensive.
Modifications.
He said them like he was rearranging throw pillows, not constructing a very tasteful guillotine.
The bell over the door jingles, and in walks Olivia with, basically, her own soundtrack.
She’s a little more visibly pregnant now, glowing in that soft, infuriating way that makes you question your skincare routine. One hand rests automatically over her bump, protective without even thinking about it. The other is wrangling her son’s backpack.
Behind her are three firefighters who look like they stepped out of a calendar titledWe Save Lives and Also Your Feelings.
A man who looks a lot like Ivy, andmustbe her brother, Jesse, comes in first with the kind of dominance that doesn’t announce itself because it doesn’t have to. He scans the room once, instinctively, as if danger might be hiding behind the pastry case.
Leo Griffin follows, arms crossed, expression skeptical, like smiling requires paperwork. Karl Madden brings up the rear, grin easy, eyes bright, clearly enjoying existing in public with their child, Jacob, wrapped around his leg.
They orbit Olivia the way Boone and Caleb and Silas orbit Delaney. Like Mitchell, Timothy, and Freddie circle Ivy. The way Wild Reverie keeps close to Sloane.
Effortless.
Unapologetic.
Chosen.
I love to see it, I can’t help myself.
Olivia spots me immediately and slides into the booth across from me, claiming territory.
“You survived,” she says warmly. “That was a shit show, wasn’t it?”
“Define survived,” I reply. “I didn’t flip a table, so I guess that’s something.”
Karl leans against the back of the booth. “Wren went full PowerPoint.”
“Worse,” I say. “He went ‘reasonable.’”
Leo grimaces. “It was dangerous. Anyone could see that.”
“Yes,” I agree. “He’s not trying to shut The Hollow down dramatically. That would be obvious. He’s proposing quarterly disclosures, third-party audits, and restricted hours. You know. Just enough to make survival… inconvenient.”
Jesse’s jaw tightens slightly. “Temporary restrictions can stretch.”
“Exactly,” I say, grateful someone else understands the subtext. “It’s death by compliance form.”
Olivia nods slowly. “He’s aiming for erosion.”
I take a sip of my latte and try not to picture Ryder standing at that podium, answering questions about “interstate affiliations” like he wasn’t being publicly dissected.
“He didn’t react,” I say quietly. “Not once. He just stood there. Controlled. Calm.”
Leo gives a low nod. “That takes discipline.”
“It takes weight,” I correct.
Olivia watches me with that knowing, slightly smug expression of someone who has already lived through this part of the story.
“You care,” she says.
