The man spoke for a while, barely moving except for the occasional tilt of his head. Sage answered once or twice—short responses if Law had to guess.
After a moment, Sage reached into his jacket and set an envelope on the table between them.
The man didn’t rush it—just watched as he picked it up, opened it enough to check the contents, then folded the flap closed again.
Looked like cash.
Another swallow of beer. The bottle creaked slightly in Law’s grip.
Something about the scene sat wrong in his gut.
The conversation continued for another minute or two, the man still relaxed, Sage still tight in the chair like he was waiting for the moment he could stand up and leave.
Across the room, Law watched every second of it.
The conversation ended as abruptly as it had started.
The man pushed his chair back and stood, smoothing the front of his jacket with one hand like he had nowhere else he needed to be. Sage didn’t stand with him. He stayed where he was, elbows resting lightly on the table, eyes following the man as he stepped away.
The tie was adjusted again as he crossed the room, the motion small and practiced.
Law tracked him the entire way—filing away his face, his build.
No glance around. No hesitation. Just that same calm confidence as he moved through the crowd, weaving past dancers and clusters of people without ever breaking stride.
A moment later, the front door opened.
Cool night air spilled briefly into the dance hall before the door swung shut again behind him.
Law took another swallow of beer.
Across the room, Sage still hadn’t moved.
He sat there a few seconds longer, shoulders tight, eyes fixed on the table, before finally leaning back like the tension had drained out of him all at once.
Something was going on in Sage’s life.
Something he hadn’t said a word about.
Law lifted the bottle again, gaze still fixed on the back corner of the room.
One thing was certain.
He was going to find out what it was.
Roughly two weeks later…
Sage stepped out of the SUV and stopped.
Buckshot hit the ground a second later and took off, all legs and momentum, circling wide across the gravel before snapping back toward Sage’s side like he needed to make sure he was still there.
The driver’s door opened behind him, and Law climbed out. Gravel shifted under his boots as he came around the front of the vehicle, sunlight catching the gray threaded through his dark hair. He glanced up at the house once, easy and familiar, then looked at Sage.
“We’re home.”
Sage lifted his gaze to Law.
Broad shoulders filling out a plain T-shirt, worn jeans, boots planted like he’d grown up walking this ground—which he had. Dark hair cropped short, threaded with gray at the temples. Jaw shadowed with matching stubble. Whiskey-colored eyes that caught everything without ever looking hurried about it.
