Page 27 of Mercy

I nod, trying to focus on the conversation.

They're discussing the latest club gossip, but I can't bring myself to care about who's sleeping with whom or which prospect is likely to get patched in next.

My eyes keep drifting to the exit, calculating how quickly I could reach it if I needed to.

"Hey," Starla says softly, touching my arm. "You sure you're okay?"

I turn to her, seeing the worry etched on her face.

For a moment, I consider telling her everything.

How I wake up screaming every night, how I can't stand to be in this place that was once my sanctuary, how I'm not sure I can stay here anymore.

But the words catch in my throat.

"I'm just... adjusting," I say finally. "It's weird being back here after... everything."

Starla nods, understanding in her eyes. "I know it's hard, but you're safe now. We won't let anything happen to you again."

I want to believe her, I really do.

But the memory of hands grabbing me, of pain and fear and helplessness, is still too fresh.

I take another sip of wine, wishing it was something stronger.

"So, Meghan," Vail says, leaning across the table. "What's the deal with you and Tor? I saw you on the back of his bike the other day."

I feel my cheeks flush, both from the wine and the mention of Tor's name. "I'm not sure what we are," I admit. "It's... complicated."

"Complicated how?" Fern asks, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

I shrug, struggling to put my feelings into words. "We're... something. I'm just not sure what that something is yet."

"But you like him?" Charm presses.

"Yeah," I say softly, surprised by how much I mean it. "I do."

The conversation shifts to other topics, but my mind stays on Tor.

He's been a constant presence since I got out of the hospital, always there when I need him.

His quiet strength and unwavering support have been a lifeline in the chaos of my recovery.

But can I really build a future with him in this world that's caused me so much pain?

As the night wears on, I find myself relaxing slightly.

The wine loosens my tongue, and I even manage to laugh at a few of Magnolia's outrageous stories.

But there's still a part of me that can't fully let go, that has me looking over my shoulder.

"You know," Starla says during a lull in the conversation, "I was thinking we could make this a regular thing. Maybe once a month?"

The others nod enthusiastically, but I feel a surge of panic.

Once a month?

In the clubhouse?

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