Emma shakes her head. “Harper?—”
“No excuses,” Harper repeats firmly. “You're both coming. I'm not taking no for an answer.”
I should say no. Should make an excuse about work or prior commitments or literally anything that gets me out of this. But part of me—the part that's been buried under thirteen years of survival and vengeance—wants to say yes. I want to pretend, just for one night, that I'm a normal woman with normal friends doing normal things. “I'm in.”
“Yes!” Harper beams. “Emma?”
Emma hesitates. There's something in her expression—conflict maybe, or hesitation. She opens her mouth, closes it, then takes a breath. “I can't drink.”
“Why not?” Harper frowns. “You on antibiotics or something?”
“No.” A soft smile lights her face. “I'm pregnant.”
The words hang in the air.
Harper's eyes go wide. “Holy shit. Seriously?”
Emma nods, a smile tugging at her lips. “I wanted to wait to tell people. I’m not that far along. But, yeah, we’re having a baby.”
“Oh my God.” Harper throws an arm around Emma’s shoulders and squeezes her into her side. “Emma, that's amazing. Congratulations!”
“Thanks.” Tears glisten in Emma’s eyes, but it’s obvious they’re tears of joy. “It's still surreal. So fast. But good. Really good.”
I watch the exchange, something tight and painful lodging in my chest. This is what normal looks like. This is what life looks like when you're not running, not hunting, not carrying the weight of a dead sister and a barcode tattoo.
Gripping my wrist, I think of Mason. A flicker of something lights in my chest. Could I ever have this?
“Lily?” Emma's voice pulls me back. She's watching me with concern. “You okay?”
Shaking my head, I force a smile. “Yeah. Sorry. Just—congratulations. That's really wonderful.”
And I mean it—I do—but it doesn't stop the ache.
Harper's already planning. “Okay, so girls' night is definitely still happening, but we're making it a celebration. A pre-baby-shower baby shower. No alcohol for you, obviously, but we can still have fun. Dancing, terrible food, maybe some embarrassing stories about Jake?—”
“Please don't,” Emma says, but she's laughing.
The conversation shifts into logistics—where to go, what to do, whether the Blackthorn men should be invited or if this is strictly a girls-only event. I contribute when expected, laugh at Harper's jokes, and try to ignore the way my chest feels like it's being crushed.
Because I'm not here to make friends or go to girls' nights or celebrate pregnancies. I'm here to hunt the men who killed my sister. I'm here to burn Turner's operation to the ground and make sure every man who touched Mandy pays in blood.
And when that's done—when the mission is complete and there's nothing left to hunt—I'll disappear. I won’t be able to stick around, not once people discover my past, and that’s bound to happen if I help bring down Turner and his operation.
These women will move on. Emma will have her baby. Harper will probably become sheriff one day. Mason will find someone who isn't broken and marked.
And I'll be alone again.
The way I've always been.
By the time we leave the diner, the sun is high and bright, the kind of clear Montana afternoon that makes everything feel possible. Emma hugs me goodbye—a real hug, warm and genuine—and Harper extracts a promise that I'll show up Friday night.
I watch them walk away together, their voices carrying on the breeze, and I feel the weight of the barcode on my wrist like a brand.
I'm not one of them. I never will be.
But for a few hours, I let myself pretend.
And maybe that's enough.