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The better man was real.

The thought comes again.

This time I let it stay.

It does not erase the coffin. It does not erase the garage. It does not erase the nights Razor found openings Bitter helped create.

Both versions exist.

Now Bitter has to decide which one gets fed.

And I have to decide whether I ever want to be close enough to find out.

By four, the grave-digging contest has started.

Because apparently the natural progression from public emotional accountability is competitive excavation.

Only here.

I stand beside Mercy and Junie near the taped-off strip of ground while five contestants line up with shovels.

One of them is Bitter.

I stare.

“No.”

Mercy looks over. “What?”

“Why is he doing this?”

“Hyde entered him.”

“That feels vindictive.”

“Leadership takes many forms.”

Bitter sees us.

His gaze catches mine.

He looks resigned.

I almost smile.

Hyde climbs onto the little platform with a microphone.

“Rules are simple. Three feet deep for contest depth, six long, two wide. No powered equipment. No outside help. No biting.”

Boogie raises his hand.

“That rule is targeted harassment.”

“Yes.”

“Good to know.”

The crowd laughs.