Nate's bar was closed to the public, but the back room was open.
The chairs were down from their tables. The bourbon was on its usual shelf. Julian had already poured himself a glass. Gilbert was nursing a whiskey, his shoulders looser than they'd been a week ago but still carrying the particular tension of someone who had information to share. Nate was behind the bar, mixing his gin with tonic. Franz was in his usual seat, his drink untouched, waiting.
The door opened and Arianne walked in.
It was the first brotherhood meeting she'd attended since the club fight. Since the station. Since the photoshoot. Since everything. She'd been absent from the last one. Tonight she was here, and the room adjusted to her presence the way it always did. Not deference. Just recognition.
She took her seat beside Franz. His hand brushed hers under the table — brief, grounding. She didn't pull away.
