Marlowe
The bag sat half-packed on the bunk beside me, and I hadn't moved in what felt like a long time, caught in the particular paralysis of a decision that felt both inevitable and impossible at once.
Leaving meant losing everything I'd built here — Wrench's garage, Nova's fierce, uncomplicated loyalty, the bay that had my name on it now, the closest thing to belonging I'd found in ten years. Staying meant facing whatever judgment came next, exposed completely, with no lie left to hide behind and no guarantee the club would extend me even the narrow mercy King's silence had offered so far.
I heard the door before I fully registered it opening, and looked up to find King standing in the frame, still in the same clothes from hours ago, looking like he hadn't slept any more than I had.
