Page 109 of Mystic's Sunrise

“You good?” he asked, his expression concerned.

I didn’t answer right away. Just let the smoke swirl around us, tasting the ash in the air, running my tongue along my teeth as I fought the urge to lie.

“Yeah,” I muttered eventually.

There was a pause. The kind that hangs there too long to be casual.

Then Devil let out a quiet laugh that held no real humor. “Lying motherfucker.”

That dragged a huff of air out of me, something halfway between a laugh and a sigh. I rubbed a hand down my face, dragging across the stubble like I could scrape the day off my skin. “Got no choice.”

He didn’t push. Didn’t call me out again. Just clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, the weight grounding.

“Drink’s inside,” he said simply. “Whenever you’re ready.”

And with that, he turned and walked back inside, the cherry of his cigarette glowing brighter with each drag until it disappeared into the haze of the doorway.

For a few seconds, I just sat there, letting the hum of the night stretch out around me. Letting the air clear my head. And when I finally stood and swung my leg over the bike, it felt like dragging my body out of a grave I hadn’t realized I’d laid down in.

The clubhouse door creaked shut behind me, sealing me back into the place I’d once called home. The air inside was thick with the usual smells, and bodies all layered together into something that shouldn’t have felt comforting, but somehow did.

I didn’t look at my brothers gathered by the bar, though I felt their eyes on me, curious, watchful, sympathetic. Didn’t bother to talk with Gearhead and Thunder, standing near the pool table, their quiet conversation dying off as their eyes found me. They didn’t ask questions. Not with words. But their posture, the flick of their gaze, said enough. They were waiting to see if I’d crack.

I didn’t have it in me.

Not for talk. Not for company.

I needed something in my hands to crush, something to let the anger I was feeling have an outlet. Shit, maybe I just needed a corner dark enough to disappear into.

I moved through the room like a shadow, slipping past the noise, letting the voices and music bleed into background noise.

And then—

I saw her.

She was sitting in the far corner of the room, surrounded by familiar faces. Lucy, Fiona, and Amy were there, all talking, laughing, drinks in hand like it was any other night. Like the world hadn’t tilted off its axis.

But Zeynep wasn’t laughing.

She wasn’t looking at them.

She was watchingme.

Her gaze was unreadable in the low light, but I felt it like a current across the room—steady, quiet, and cutting straight through me.

My throat went tight.

I didn’t look away.

I couldn’t.

Not after what I’d done.

Not after letting her down. After standing there while Chelsea spat venom in her direction and said my name like it belonged to her. After failing to step between them. Failing to protect Zeynep from the one person I should’ve never let near her.

We stayed like that for a moment—two people caught in a stare that said everything words couldn’t.

Then, without a word, she stood.

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