The neon sign of The Pit Stop buzzed faintly against the night sky, its red glow bleeding across the lot like an open wound. Sage froze at the edge of the pavement, her chest tightening as memory crashed back—the screech of boots on asphalt, the grip of rough hands, the breath-stealing pain of fear.
Silas’s hand slid to the small of her back, steady and warm. “You good?”
She nodded, though her throat was too tight to form words. The low hum of music leaked out from behind the doors, familiar but changed, like the place itself had shifted. What used to feel like a second home now felt like the mouth of a lion’s den.
Through the windows, the glow of dim lights revealed shadows moving inside. The Sovereign Sons were already here, gathered and waiting. Their voices carried—a low rumble of b
