Page 118 of Priest

Ghost’s name lights the screen.

The warmth in the room shifts, subtle but immediate. I feel it before I acknowledge it, like the pressure change before a storm. Blue feels it too. Her body goes still against mine.

I step aside to answer. “Yeah.”

His voice is level, but there’s something buried under it, held too tight. “We need Church. Now.”

I don’t ask him if he’s sure. Ghost doesn’t call Church without reason. “What do you have?”

“Something you aren’t going to like to hear. Something I made sure was solid before I laid it out.”

That lands harder than a warning should.

“I’m on my way.”

When I end the call and look back at Blue, she’s already reading the shift in me. She doesn’t ask for details. She knows better when it comes to club business, but I see the flicker of worry in her eyes and the brief tightening of her jaw.

“I’ll call you,” I say, stepping close enough to rest my forehead against hers. “Don’t work too hard today. Take breaks.”

“I will, promise.” Her hand settles against my chest, warm and steady. “Be careful.”

It isn’t a request.

I leave before I can let myself linger.

Church feels different that morning, dark around the edges and choked with silence. The kind of quiet that means something has already started moving beneath the surface. Ghost is seated with his laptop open in front of him, shoulders slightly hunched, exhaustion written into the lines around his eyes. I make a mental note to check on him later. He carries too much alone, and Ink is the only one who seems to clock it as clearly as I do.

Ledger sits with his hands clasped loosely on the table, expression neutral but alert. Rook leans back in his chair with one boot hooked on the rung, jaw tight enough to crack stone. Nomad and Graves are already watching Ghost with the kind of attention that says they expect blood on the floor before this is done.

I take my seat at the head of the table and nod once. “Talk.”

Ghost doesn’t dramatize it. He never does. He turns the laptop so the screen faces the rest of us and speaks in the same steady tone he uses when reporting inventory numbers.

“Sadie has a second phone,” he says. “Burner. Jazzy got me access this morning while Sadie was out. I cloned the data.”

The room tightens.

Rook straightens slightly. “You’re sure?”

“I pulled the logs,” Ghost answers. “Repeated outgoing calls. Same tower pings. Same time frames. She runs the shower and sink in the bathroom when she talks. Sound masking. It’s intentional.”

A slow, ugly silence settles over the table.

Ledger’s voice comes low. “Who?”

Ghost’s eyes meet mine before he answers. “Joker.”

The name doesn’t surprise me the way it should. It settles instead, slow and heavy, like part of me had been waiting for the shape of it. We’d been watching Joker from the outside, convinced Sadie was running from him. I hadn’t let myself consider that she might be carrying messages back.

Before anyone can respond, there’s a knock at the Church door.

The prospect stationed outside cracks it open just enough to be seen. His face is careful in a way that makes every man in the room sit a little straighter.

“Prez,” he says. “Dead Man’s Hand prospect at the gate. Says he’s got a message for you.”

Graves doesn’t even hesitate. “Bring him inside.”

Then, after a beat, his voice turns colder.