Page 300 of Bitter’s Sweet

Now he looks like Raven again.

Not alive. Nobody here is stupid enough to need that lie.

Just himself.

His cut sits right. His hands look like his hands. The damage along his temple has disappeared beneath work so careful I could stare straight at it and never find where Sweet began.

She did that.

Pride fills my chest before I can stop it.

This time I let it.

Pride does not mean ownership. Apparently a man can admire something without putting his fucking name on it.

Who knew.

Brothers line the road in cuts and black shirts. Hyde stands at the front with Nevermore beside him while Ghoul checks the procession order. Boogie somehow manages to look serious for almost thirty consecutive seconds.

That has to be a club record.

Mourning and Vesper stand farther back with Sheriff between them. The rooster has a little black ribbon tied around his neck.

I stare.

Mourning catches me.

“What?”

“You dressed the chicken for a funeral.”

“He has respect.”

Sheriff pecks at the ground.

Vesper adjusts the ribbon. “More than some men.”

I am not walking into that.

Mercy comes out of the School of the Dead first. Junie follows.

Then Sweet.

Everything else gets quiet for reasons that have nothing to do with Raven.

She has changed out of her apron but not into anything fancy. Dark jeans. Black sweater. Pink shoes because apparently funeral processions do not outrank personal branding. Her hair is loose, and she carries her textbooks against one hip.

School things.

Her future.

Things she chose.

My eyes move to her face. The bruise along her cheek has faded to yellow. The marks on her knees are mostly hidden, and her wrist is free of the wrap now, though she still favors it a little.

She sees me.

My chest tightens.