Saint takes the pen and signs without looking at the paper, his eyes on me the entire time. Moth turns the document toward me. I grab and quickly sign my name, needing to move along this gathering as quickly as possible. When I set the pen down,Saint’s hand brushes the small of my back, enough to remind me he’s there.
Sol looks at the signatures, then closes the folder with a final sound. “It’s official.”
Breakfast follows because criminals apparently enjoy making violence and paperwork share a table with eggs. The clubhouse rearranges itself into a strained, ugly kind of hospitality. Tally moves through the room with the efficiency of someone who can feed enemies without letting either side forget she owns the food. Obsidian and Rogue officers sit in clusters that pretend to mingle and fail. Bricks takes a chair where he can see both entrances. Moth eats standing up with his tablet balanced in one hand until Tally threatens to take the plate away. Demo tries to make polite conversation with one of the Rogue prospects and nearly chokes on his coffee when the man asks whether Obsidian always holds weddings before breakfast.
Saint stays close for the first ten minutes, then gets pulled toward Sol, Moth, and a low conversation near the far side of the bar. His attention keeps finding me in the same way it always does, crossing the room without his body moving.
Varina waits until he’s speaking to Moth before approaching, her hair pulled back tightly, her face sharp with lack of sleep or too much anger or both. For a second, I remember her in our mother’s kitchen, younger and barefoot, stealing toast from my plate because she said mine always tasted better. Then she speaks, and the memory goes cold.
“So this is it.”
I look at the eggs in front of me. “Apparently.”
“You look good in their cut.”
I hear the insult hidden under the words and choose not to pick it up. “You look tired.”
Her mouth tightens. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like we’re still allowed to have normal conversations.”
I look up at her then. “Are we not?”
She doesn’t answer quickly enough. Rook calls her name from near the Rogue side, and her jaw flexes as if she resents the interruption more than my question. “I need to talk to you.”
“Youaretalking to me.”
“Alone.”
“No.”
The answer leaves me before fear can edit it. Varina’s eyes sharpen, and for one second, she looks so much like Canon that it hurts more than frightens me.
“This isn’t over, Oisín.”
Saint’s hand appears on the back of my chair before either of us speaks again. I don’t know how he crosses the room so quietly for a man his size, but suddenly he’s there, looming behind me with his attention on Varina.
“He saidno.”
Varina’s eyes flick up to him. “This is family.”
Saint’s thumb brushes once against the chair back. “Not anymore.”
Varina’s face changes. She looks at me and I see the hurt under the rage. Then Canon calls my name from near the side door, and the moment breaks.
“Oisín. Outside.”
Saint’s hand stills behind me.
Canon doesn’t wait to see if I’ll obey. He turns and walks toward the lot like the command is already attached to my spine. It almost works. Habit pulls at me, my feet moving before I fully decide to stand.
Saint’s fingers close around my wrist, stopping me, his expression unreadable. “You don’t have to.”
The room feels too full of ears, though, andnotgoing feels like a death sentence.
“I know,” I say, though I don’t know if that’s true yet. “I’ll be fine.”
