The compound had long since quieted. Night had settled like a heavy blanket, muting the laughter and noise that usually bled from the bar downstairs. The hum of the neon sign flickered through the blinds in Devil’s room, casting strips of red light across the walls where Haru sat, her baby asleep in her arms.
Hope’s tiny fingers twitched in her sleep, clutching the corner of the hand-knit blanket that had arrived days ago. The soft wool was pale cream, threaded through with silver strands that shimmered faintly when the light hit. A small moon charm dangled near the edge...delicate, handmade, unmistakably personal.
Haru traced it with her thumb, her gaze distant.
When Violet had told her earlier that Ash’s face went still the moment Flint mentioned the parcel, she’d known. There was no
