Brick blinked. “What? I’m fine.”
“You’re impulsive,” Grim said, voice low but firm. “You act before you think. Ghost waits. You don’t.”
Stone’s gaze shifted to Brick, assessing. “It’s a routine sweep and a simple meet.”
“With the Reapers sniffing around, nothing’s routine,” Grim said quietly.
The room stilled. Even the neon sign seemed to buzz softer. Stone studied him. “You think they’ll hit La Luna?”
“I think they’ll hit something,” Grim said. “And Brick needs to keep his head if it’s tonight.”
Brick bristled. “I can fight.”
Grim stood, slow and deliberate, towering over him. “Fighting’s not the problem. Thinking is.”
Brick swallowed but didn’t look away.
Stone stepped in. “He needs experience.”
“He needs to survive the experience,” Grim said, still respectful, still controlled.
Havoc rose from the couch, stretching. “I’ll keep him close. He won’t sneeze without me knowing.”
Vandal grinned. “If he does, Ghost’ll stab the sneeze.”
Ghost didn’t react. Havoc snorted. Brick laughed.
Stone clapped a hand on Grim’s shoulder. “You’re wound tight tonight.”
Grim shrugged him off. “Just paying attention.”
Stone studied him for a long moment. “You heading out?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“Ride.”
Stone nodded once. Permission granted.
Grim grabbed his helmet and headed for the door. Switchblade watched him go, posture straightening just a fraction. Not nosy. Not intrusive. Just aware. Grim didn’t mind it. Switchblade was one of the few prospects who paid attention for the right reasons.
The night air hit him like a cold slap, sharp and grounding. He breathed it in, trying to shake the heaviness crawling under his skin.
Behind him, the clubhouse door swung open again.
“Hey.” Brick jogged out, breath puffing in the cool air. “Thanks. For… y’know. Caring.”
Grim stared at him. “I don’t care.”
Brick grinned. “Sure you don’t.”
Grim didn’t answer. He swung onto his bike.
Brick hesitated. “You think tonight’ll be bad?”
Grim looked at him, really looked at him, and something in his chest tightened.