Page 188 of Scatter the Bones

Baby Lincoln’s nestled against her chest, his tiny body rising and falling in a soft, sleepy rhythm.

My heart does that weird, achy flutter again.

I’m not used to people making space for me.

“Sorry,” she says as I ease into the seat beside her. “I would’ve come over to meet you but…”

“Your hands are a little full?” I lean over, peeking at Lincoln’s round cheeks and perfectly pursed lips. “He’s, uh, grown a lot since last time.”

“I know.” She smiles down at him and snuggles him closer.

“Hi, Margot,” a deeper voice rumbles.

I glance up at Grinder—looking especially murder daddy-ish tonight—seated in the corner of the opposite couch, angled ninety degrees from Serena and their baby. Quiet menace radiates off him. His intense gaze settles on me, and he gives a slow, respectful nod.

Oh, lord. Jigsaw must’ve told him about the guy I helped into the crematorium express lane.

Of course he did. The whole club probably knows.

But no one seems afraid of me. Or even seems concerned.

Yeah, no kidding.They’ve all probably done much worse.

Instead of terrifying, it’s comforting.

Everyone in this room would probably kill to protect their loved ones.

That, I can relate to.

Feeling more settled, I let my gaze wander around the room, noting not everyone’s here.

“Where are the other guys?” I ask Serena. “Ravage? Birch? Dex?”

Serena laughs softly. “They’re either watching the fight at Crystal Ball or Remy’s bar.” She pulls her phone out from under her thigh, expertly thumbing the screen, like she’s used to doing everything one-handed. “Well, Dex and Emily are running things at Remy’s bar while he’s away. Em says the place is absolutely packed.”

“That’s great.” Except for Griff’s party, Remy’s bar has been slow when I’ve been there. Hopefully the boost in business helps.

“Oh! I brought you something—” Serena stretches her free arm out, straining to reach for the bag on the floor without jostling Lincoln.

“Let me take him for a while, buttercup.” Grinder stands and scoops his son into his arms.

Serena throws him a soft, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

She digs around in the bag, pulling out diapers, wipes, toys, blankets, extra baby clothes—somanyextra clothes. Finally, she unearths a sleek, black, sparkly case shaped like a coffin.

“A-ha!” She holds it in the air like a trophy. “The company sent me two of these limited-edition kits. I thought the bag was so cute. I brought one for you.”

She hands it to me, and I blink in surprise. The name stamped in silver across the front jumps out immediately—an expensive brand I’ve admired but never dared splurge on.

“Wow. Really?” I unzip the case. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes. It’s their fall line. Not available yet. I have to post my videos by the end of the summer. Oh! Maybe you can come down and we’ll swatch everything together. Their new liquid liners are insane—super pigmented, zero flake, and the precision tips? So, so clean.”

Serena’s cheerful enthusiasm finally cuts through my anxiety. We geek out over the kit, comparing shades andformulas. She helps me test one of the lip colors, gently swiping it over my lips like a pro.

I snap a quick selfie and send it to Jigsaw.

No death talk. No sideways glances or whispered gossip. I’m not the weird girl who touches dead people for a living.

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