She looks at her son. “He knows enough.”
Five years old and knows enough.
I hate the world for that.
“He started hiding toys before I packed,” she says. “Like if Jeremy couldn’t see what he loved, Jeremy couldn’t take it. I found Blue Rex in the laundry hamper wrapped in a towel.”
Her voice breaks.
This time, she doesn’t apologize for it.
Progress can be cruel too.
I reach out slowly and touch her wrist above the bruise. She lets me. Not fully relaxed, but she doesn’t pull away.
“He’s safe in this room tonight.”
She nods.
“And so are you.”
Her mouth twists. “Is that a promise?”
“Yes.”
“Can you make that promise here?”
There is the real question.
Not whether I mean it.
Whether my word has weight in a building full of outlaws.
I lean back. “Amelia, I’m Sophie Montgomery. I was born into horse money, claimed by an outlaw king, and I’ve survived more male stupidity than most women should have to tolerate before the age of thirty. Marriage license or not, I’m property of Legend. If I say you and your son are safe in this room tonight, every biker downstairs will either help make that true or find out why this old jail still has places a body could disappear.”
She stares at me.
Then she laughs.
It’s quiet because of August, but it’s real.
Not free.
Not healed.
But real enough to make the room warmer.
“I don’t know if I should be comforted or terrified,” she says.
“Both usually works around here.”
Her laugh fades into a sigh.
She picks up the borrowed clothes. “Can I change?”
“Yes. I’ll step outside.”
“You don’t have to.”