Shirley
The next evening, I walked into the bar with the same quiet determination that had been keeping me upright these past few days. The steady ache in my muscles from training reminded me that I wasn’t the same woman who had first stumbled into Ashridge. I’d grown roots here—uneven, shaky ones maybe—but roots all the same.
Zara greeted me with her usual brightness, tossing a rag over her shoulder. “You look like someone who’s about to start trouble. Don’t tell me you came here ready for a fight.”
I smirked, sliding behind the counter. “Not a fight. Just… clarity.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That mean what I think it means?”
My gaze flicked to the corner booth. Tessie sat there again, as if the shadows had carved out her permanent seat. Perfectly poised, legs crossed, her lips painted a d
