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Mercy’s eyes snap to her.

Sweet freezes. “Sorry. I didn’t want his hand to drag.”

For one long second, nobody talks.

Then Mercy nods. “Good instinct. Gentle. Release when I say.”

Sweet does exactly that.

I hate how much I like watching her be careful.

Once Raven is settled into his rider’s coffin, the room exhales. Carver outdid himself, the aggravating bastard. Black walnut polished deep enough to hold shadows, chrome handles shining like bike pipes, carved raven wings stretched along the lid. Inside, velvet dark as midnight. Space built for Raven’s cut, rings, keys, last cigarette, and whatever else his widow decides he needs for the next road.

Sweet steps closer when Mercy lets her.

Her voice drops. “He looks peaceful.”

“He looks smug.”

Sweet glances back at me. “Maybe he earned it.”

“Raven owed three ex-wives money and once stole a hearse because he thought it would impress a waitress.”

“Did it?”

“For about twenty minutes.”

Her mouth curves. “Then he earned a little smug.”

Mercy points a gloved finger between us. “Flirt after the dead man is finished being dead in my workspace.”

“He ain’t gonna be less dead later.”

“Bitter.”

I raise both hands and shut up, mostly because Sweet is biting back a laugh and I want to see if she loses.

She doesn’t. Good for her. Bad for me.

After the transfer, the room goes busy again. Raven’s widow comes in to approve the final placement, cries over the cigarette, laughs when Scarecrow tells her Raven would haunt them if they forgot his Harley key, and kisses the dead man’s forehead before Mercy guides her out. Students clean stations. Carver appears to inspect the coffin and glares at everybody like we’re all personally capable of scratching his finish.

Which we are.

I check the hall, side door, yard, and south gate. I am doing my job. That is all.

Then Sweet slips out the back with a trash bag in each hand. Alone. I push off the wall.

Mercy catches me without looking up. “Don’t scare my student.”

“Tell your student not to wander off during festival week.”

“Tell yourself not to stalk my student during business hours.”

“It’s club business.”

“Everything is club business when you want an excuse.”

I ignore that because it sounds too much like truth.