She looks alive. Not guarded. Not invisible. Alive, in a way I haven't seen from her in the six weeks I've been paying attention.
Then my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I step into the hallway behind the kitchen and pull the phone out.
It’s an alert from the monitoring system I built after the financial leak.
Someone has probed the network again. Different IP. Different entry point.
They're testing my defenses. Moving slower now, more careful, after the first leak went public.
They know we're looking. And they're coming anyway.
I screenshot the alert and save it. My thumbs hover over Ruger's name in my contacts.
Not tonight. Tonight is Ellie's night. The digital ghost can wait until morning, and by morning, I'll have more data to show him.
I pocket the phone and head out to the bar.
Saylor catches my expression when I come around the corner.
She's pouring a draft, her attention flicking to me and away, reading me the way she reads everything.
"You okay?" She asks it without looking up, her voice low enough to disappear under the music.
I lean against the counter near her, close enough to feel her warmth. "Yeah. Work stuff."
She slides the beer to the customer. "Club work or school work?"
I straighten a stack of napkins. "Club."
She nods, but doesn't push. Pours the next beer and hands it off with a smile so small I almost miss it.
Two people standing in each other's silence. Trusting it. Even when it's heavy.
At midnight, the crowd thins.
Regulars settle their tabs. Brothers head out in groups, engines rumbling to life, departure echoing through the mountain dark.
Ellie hugs Tildie goodnight, kisses Ruger on the cheek, squeezes Saylor's shoulder on her way to count the register.
The squeeze is deliberate. I see it.
Saylor sees it too.
Her attention follows Ellie for a second, and there's something on her expression I won't try to name.
Gratitude, maybe. Or the look of a woman who's been invited inside and can't decide if she's allowed to stay.
She grabs her jacket from behind the bar. "I'm heading out."
I'm wiping down the last table. "I'll walk you."
She zips the jacket, keys already in her grip. "You don't have to."
I toss the rag behind the counter. "I know."
We cross the parking lot together. The air is cold, breath visible in the glow of the lot light.