Page 141 of Cobra
I pick it up. It’s worn at the edges, the kind of wear that comes from use, not neglect. The cover is simple. No markings beyond what it is.
Passport.
My thumb runs over the front before I open it. I don’t know why I do. Curiosity, maybe. Or something quieter. Something that feels like I’m learning pieces of him in ways he doesn’t always offer out loud. I flip it open.
His picture stares back at me. Same as he is now. Hard lines. Controlled expression. Eyes that don’t give anything away unless you know how to look.
I trace the edge of the page without really thinking about it. Name. Details. Dates. And then, my breath catches slightly.
Birthdate.
I blink once, then again, like maybe I read it wrong the first time. I didn’t. Today. It’s today. The realization settles slowly. Not dramatic. Not overwhelming.
Cobra’s birthday.
He didn’t say anything.
Of course he didn’t.
That tracks with everything I’ve learned about him so far. He’s not the kind of man who marks days like that. Not the kind who expects attention or celebration or anything that pulls focus to himself in a way he can’t control. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.
I close the passport gently and set it back where I found it, sliding the drawer shut the rest of the way. Then I stand there for a second. Thinking.
He wouldn’t want something big.
Wouldn’t want attention. Wouldn’t want the room full of people making a thing out of it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t do something. Something small. Something just his. The decision forms before I fully think it through.
I’m going out.
Just for a little while. Just enough to grab something.
I step out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind me.
The clubhouse is quieter than it was this morning. Some of the men are gone. Others are scattered, handling whatever they always seem to be handling. The women are in the main room, voices lower, conversation easy.
Eli is near the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, talking to Connor about something that sounds like it might be a bet neither of them is going to win.
“Eli,” I call.
He looks up immediately. There’s still a flicker of something in his eyes when he looks at me. Not fear. Not exactly. Awareness. Like he remembers that night, the alley, the way things went wrong, and the way Cobra reacted when he saw me on the ground. That hasn’t faded. It probably won’t. “What’s up?” he asks, pushing off the wall.
“I need a favor.”
He pauses. Not long. Just enough to register the words. “What kind of favor?”
“I need to go to the store.”
His expression tightens slightly. “Alone?” he asks.
“No,” I say quickly. “With you.”
That doesn’t ease it. If anything, it makes it worse. “Cobra’s not here,” he says.
“I know.”
He studies me. “You want me to take you somewhere,” he says slowly, “without him knowing about it.”
“That’s not what I said.”
