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Chapter 1 - Razor

The streetlights in this part of town flicker like they're trying to decide whether staying on is worth the effort. I know the feeling.

It's past midnight, and I'm supposed to be on a simple supply run: motor oil, brake fluid, couple other things Diesel needs at the garage by morning. Simple. Straightforward. The kind of task prospects handle without thought.

Except I took the long route.

Again.

I tell myself it's coincidence every single time. That I just happen to prefer this street over the direct path back to the clubhouse. That the timing, always around when her shift ends, is pure accident, nothing calculated, nothing I've memorized down to the fifteen-minute window when she walks from the diner to the bus stop.

It's a lie I'm getting worse at believing.

My bike idles at the red light, engine rumbling low between my thighs. The supply bags are strapped down tight across the back. I should turn left here, head straight to Diesel, drop everything off, and get back to the clubhouse before Angel notices I've been gone longer than a basic run requires. He hasn't said anything yet, but he's not stupid. None of them are.

The light turns green.

I go straight instead.

The diner sits three blocks ahead on the right—Frank's Place, hand-painted sign that's been there longer than I've been alive, windows glowing warm yellow against the November cold.

I can see her through the glass as I roll past, moving between tables with that exhausted grace she always carries. Brown hair pulled back, ponytail swinging as she reaches across a booth to refill someone's coffee. She's smiling at whatever the customer just said, and even from here, even through glass and distance and the absolute fact that I have no right to watch her like this, I can tell the smile doesn't reach her eyes.

She's tired.

She's always tired.

I've been coming to Frank's for a few months now, ever since I stopped in Millhaven for what was supposed to be a day or two of rest before drifting further down the coast. Heard about the Iron Phoenix from a guy at a gas station. Heard they were different. Heard they took men like me and gave us something other than our worst instincts to build a life on.

Didn't believe it until I walked into their clubhouse and Phoenix looked me dead in the eye and asked what I wanted to become.

Not *who I was*. Not *what I'd done*.

*What I wanted to become.*

Nobody's ever asked me that question before. Not once in thirty-three years.

I told him I wanted to use everything I'd learned: streets, prison, the kind of violence that lives under my skin, for something that didn't leave me hollow. Told him I wanted to protect instead of hurt. Told him I'd served three years for aggravated assault and that I didn't regret the fight itself, just how far it went. Told him about Terry, about the promise I made walking out of those gates, about the name I earned with a sharpened toothbrush and reflexes faster than most men expect.

Razor.

Phoenix listened to all of it. Didn't flinch. Didn't judge. Just nodded slow and said, "Then prospect. Prove it."

So, I am.

Two months in. Second prospect after Angel, who's a good man even if he talks like he's trying to save everyone's soul at the same time. We split duties—security rotations, supply runs, errands nobody else has time for. It's grunt work. It's supposed to be. I don't complain.

But I do take the long route.

Every. Single. Time.

I circle the block and park half a street down from the diner's back exit, kill the engine, and settle in to wait. It's 12:14 AM. Her shift ends at midnight, but she's always twenty to thirty minutes late clocking out because she stays to help close, wipe down tables, makes sure the night cook doesn't leave with half the prep undone.

She doesn't get paid for the extra time. I've watched her argue with Frank about it once through the window, watched him shrug and walk away mid-sentence while she stood there with a dishrag in one hand and exhaustion written across every inch of her body.

I've thought about walking in there and having a conversation with Frank that would adjust his perspective on labor laws and basic human decency.

Haven't done it.