Rain followed us all the way back to the clubhouse.
Usually the place smelled of gasoline, old leather, and laughter.
Tonight it smelled like antiseptic, wet asphalt, and the silence that settles after people survive something they shouldn't have.
Nobody asked what happened.
They didn't have to.
One look at Damien's torn leather cut, the blood drying beneath the rainwater, and every conversation in the room died on its own.
Someone slid a first-aid kit onto the table.
Damien never looked at it.
"Boss," Ryder said quietly, "you're bleeding."
"Later."
Ryder sighed.
"You always say later."
Damien didn't answer.
Ryder looked at me instead.
"He's impossible when he's worried."
Damien didn't answer.
Nobody argued with Damien.
Nobody ever had.
Noah was already pulling cables fro
