Page 66 of Joker

“Then mind your business.”

Shadow’s mouth twitches. “Pretty sure it became my business when you started acting like the guest wing’s holding state secrets.”

I stare at him.

He stares right back. Then he says, quieter this time, “You know you can just say you’re worried.”

I laugh once without humor. “About what?”

“Pick one.”

There are too many. That’s the problem.

I look away first because if I don’t, I might say something honest and I’m not in the mood for self-reflection with an audience.

Shadow lets the silence stretch. Then, because apparently he’s decided not to be a complete bastard today, he says,“Whatever happened to her…you don’t need details to know it was bad.”

I glance at him again.

He isn’t wrong.

That’s what’s been eating at me all damn day. The fact that I don’t know exactly what happened, and somehow that almost makes it worse because my head keeps filling in the blanks with things ugly enough to make my vision go hot around the edges.

“I know enough,” I say.

“Yeah.” Shadow shifts his weight against the doorframe. “You gonna ask?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Because if she wants to tell me, she will. Because if she doesn’t, I’ll still be ready to put somebody in the ground for it. Because I’m already too fucking invested in a situation I should’ve left at the state line.

Instead I just say, “Doesn’t matter yet.”

Shadow studies me for a second too long, then nods once like he understands exactly what I mean.

That should bother me. It does.

He pushes off the doorframe and starts to leave, then pauses long enough to add, “If you start checking the locks twice a night, I’m putting you on a leash.”

“Get fucked.”

His laugh follows him out into the yard.

I should be annoyed. Instead, I go right back to thinking about the locks.

That evening, the clubhouse settles into its usual rhythm. Kids in and out of the common room. Dinner smells drifting from the kitchen.

Brothers moving through the space with beers, boots, and too much volume.

I keep one eye on everything without looking like I’m doing it, which is a skill I got good at a long time ago and have apparently now repurposed for a woman who is absolutely not my responsibility in any official capacity.

Raven sits at one of the tables with Lexi tucked against her side while Emma and Mac argue over something stupid and the kids race in and out of the room like tiny criminals. Raven laughs once at something Emma says, soft and surprised and still a little disbelieving every time it happens.

Then somebody upstairs drops something heavy.

A loud crack. Sudden. Sharp.