Silas found Deacon exactly where he expected to, out behind the garage bay, elbow-deep in the guts of a bike that had been giving him trouble for a week, grease smudged up to his forearms, a cigarette burning forgotten between his lips. He looked up when Silas's shadow fell across the engine, and his whole face broke into the same easy grin it had worn since they were fourteen years old, sneaking out to ride dirt bikes on land that didn't belong to either of them."You look like hell," Deacon said, wiping his hands on a rag that had long since stopped being useful for that. "Heard it was a rough night.""You could say that." Silas leaned against the workbench, keeping his voice light, keeping his face doing exactly what it needed to do to give nothing away. This was Deacon. This was the boy who'd sat with him for three days straight after their father's funeral, who hadn't said much of anything useful, who'd just been there, steady and present, when Silas couldn't stand to be alone wi
Dernière mise à jour : 2026-09-11 Read More