Page 163 of Broken Blades

And if that meant crossing town to deliver a message with my fists?

So be it.

Fifteen minutes later I stood in Golden Dragon like nothing had happened.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Steam curled up from behind the counter where an older woman stirred something that smelled like ginger and garlic. A small TV in the corner played muted news—probably still covering the Harrington implosion.

I didn't look at it.

The woman glanced up, wiping her hands on her apron. She smiled politely.

"Pickup?"

"Garrison."

She nodded and disappeared into the back. I stood there, hands in my pockets, knuckles still aching faintly from where they'd connected with Connor's jaw. No blood. Nothing visible. Just a dull throb that felt oddly satisfying.

The woman returned with two bags stapled shut, steam rising from the top.

"Sweet and sour chicken, lo mein, spring rolls." She set them on the counter. "Extra fortune cookies."

I handed her cash and took the bags. "Thanks."

She nodded again, already turning back to the stove.

I pushed through the door into the cold and crossed the parking lot. The truck beeped when I unlocked it. I set the food carefully on the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel.

The engine turned over smoothly. The radio kicked back on—still running the Harrington story—and I switched it off completely.

Silence settled around me as I pulled onto the main road.

My hands steadied on the wheel. My pulse slowed. The adrenaline finally started to drain, replaced by something calmer. Something certain.

I wasn't the man I used to be.

That guy would've kept swinging until Connor couldn't stand. Would've destroyed the apartment. Would've let the rage consume everything.

But tonight?

Tonight I hit him exactly as much as necessary. Delivered the message. Then walked away.

Because I had something worth going home to.

I turned onto our street and exhaled slowly.

Home.

The house was quiet when I walked in.

I kicked the door shut with my foot, balancing the takeout bags in one hand.

"Chastity?"

No answer.

I set the food on the kitchen counter and turned⁠—

And stopped.