“I WILL clear my name, with or without them.”
The words came out of my mouth before I realized I was alone when I said them.
The room didn’t answer back.
The safehouse smelled like cold coffee, motor oil, and old cigarette smoke soaked into drywall that had seen better decades. It was a place the club used when someone needed to disappear for a bit, not exile, not protection, just distance. A neutral nowhere. One room, one table, a sagging couch, and a single bare bulb humming overhead.
I sat at the table, forearms braced against scarred wood, phone face down between my hands.
Suspended.
Not guilty. Not innocent. Just stripped.
Ronan’s voice still rang in my ears. Controlled. Quiet. Worse than shouting.
Turn in your patch. Until we figure this out.
As if I were a problem to be sol
