The common room felt smaller after Jezebel and Lila slipped away into the trees. The gunfire from the quarry had faded, but the echo of it still rang in my ears. Brothers moved through the space with heavy steps, checking wounds and weapons, the air thick with the sharp scent of gunpowder, sweat, and spilled whiskey. No one spoke much. The weight of what had just happened pressed on all of us like a storm cloud ready to break.
I stood near the bar, the photograph and the new page from the ledger still clutched in my hand. The silver ring with the engraved rose sat on the table where I had placed it, glinting under the dim lights like a silent accusation. Dad sat heavily in his usual chair, staring at the ring as if it could speak the truth he desperately needed to hear. His shoulders were
