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Mouser and Sakura’s kids, Saffron and Bo, are running around like loose cannons.
The corners of my mouth lifting slightly. “Yeah, it’s like a circus.”
Camila laughs, a light sound that breaks through the tension of the day. “Tell me about it. So, what are you dressing up as tonight?”
“Nothing,” I reply quickly, without giving it much thought.
Dressing up isn’t really my thing.
“That’s nonsense,” she counters, crossing her arms. “Everyone’s dressing up. Even Widow’s getting into the spirit for Talon.”
I raise an eyebrow, picturing the stoic Sgt. at Arms donning a costume. “Seriously?”
It’s almost too ridiculous to imagine.
“Yep! So you better get your act together, Spark. No way you’re sitting this one out.” She gives me a playful shove.
“Guess I’ll have to think of something then,” I concede, scratching the back of my neck.
The idea of blending in with the festivities doesn’t sit right with me, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt.
Maybe it would even make Zoe happy.
“Good,” Camila says triumphantly. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something great.”
“Yeah, sure,” I mutter, watching as she heads off to wrangle Ransom again.
I glance around at the decorated veranda, the kids laughing and playing, and feel a strange mix of unease and warmth.
Maybe I should get in the festive spirit.
Kat’s voice pulling me from my thoughts. “Thanks for your help, Spark.”
She’s got a handful of balloons in one hand and a stapler in the other, looking like she’s ready to take on the world.
“Yeah, no problem,” I respond, trying to keep my tone casual. “Looks like it’s coming together.”
“Well, it might have to finish up without you. The boys are done with church, and Damon’s giving the prospects an update.”
“Got it.” I nod, handing off the last bundle of cords to Camila. “Catch you later.”
“Good luck,” she offers with a wink, clearly unaware of the storm brewing inside the clubhouse.
I head toward the entrance, the cool autumn air biting at my exposed skin.
Halloween decorations sway gently in the breeze, adding a layer of eerie calm to the scene.
It’s almost peaceful—almost—if not for the anxiety gnawing at my gut.
Pushing open the heavy door, I step into the dimly lit main room.
A few heads turn in my direction as I make my way across the worn wooden floorboards to join the other prospects.
The room smells like leather, stale beer, and tension—a concoction that’s become all too familiar.
Damon stands at the front, his eyes scanning the room with a steely gaze.
As soon as he spots me, he starts speaking, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of murmurs.
