Mason turned back to Lily. Her whole body was trembling now, like the fear had been holding itself together and was starting to come apart at the edges.
"Listen to me, Lily," he said. "Nobody here is going to make you go anywhere. Not today. Not tonight. You understand me? Nobody."
"Are you really him?" Lily asked. "The Wolf from Mama's stories?"
Mason turned a little in the booth so she could see the patch straight on — the gray wolf, the crescent moon, the thread worn soft by years of weather and road. "I'm him," he said.
Slowly, like she was touching something sacred, she reached out one finger and pressed it against the stitched wolf. Then she pulled her hand back fast, like she'd surprised herself.
"Okay," she whispered.
Her lip wobbled. She nodded.
And then the bell over the door rang, and a black pickup pulled into the lot outside, and Lily's face went white.
Chapter 3
The Man in the Black Truck
Outside, tires crunched on the gravel. The bell over the door rang, and every head in the diner turned. Millie stepped out from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her apron, the way she did when trouble walked in wearing good manners.
The man who came through the door was smiling.
He was in his forties, lean and clean-shaven, wearing a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and jeans that looked like they'd been pressed. He had the easy walk of a man who expected rooms to make space for him. His smile was wide and warm and practiced, and it did not reach his eyes.
"There you are, sweetheart," he said. "Daddy's been worried sick."
Mason felt Lily go rigid beside the booth. Not the kind of rigid a kid gets when a parent shows up. The other kind — the kind a small animal gets when the shadow crosses over it.
"She ran off," the man went on, spreading his hands like he was apologizing to the whole diner. "You know how kids are. One minute she's in the yard, the next — gone. We've been driving around for an hour." He took a step toward the booth. "Come on, Lily. Let's go home."
"She's not going anywhere," Mason said.
He said it quietly. He didn't stand up. He didn't raise his voice. But something in the room changed anyway, the way the air changes before a storm — a pressure shift you feel in your teeth. Behind him, Nadine set her coffee down. Caleb stopped chewing. Twenty-two riders in leather vests turned their heads, slow and together, like a herd of something large and patient noticing a predator.
The man's smile flickered. "Excuse me?"
"She said she doesn't want to go with you." Mason kept his eyes on the man's face. "So she's not going."
"Now listen," the man said, and the smile thinned. "I don't know who you think you are, but that is my daughter, and I don't appreciate a stranger —"
"She's not your daughter," Lily whispered.
The words were so small they almost didn't make it across the table. But the whole diner heard them.
The man's jaw tightened. Just for a second — a crack in the performance, a flash of something cold underneath, like ice showing through a thawing pond. Then the smile came back, wider than before.
"Lily, honey, you're upset. You know you get confused when you're upset." He reached for her hand. "Come on now. Mama's waiting."
Lily flinched away from his hand. She pressed herself against Mason's side of the booth, and her fingers found the edge of his vest and held on.
Mason stood up.
He was six-three and broad, and he had spent most of his life trying not to be the biggest thing in any room. But right now, being the biggest thing in the room was the whole point. He stepped between the man and the booth, and the man took one look at his face and stopped.
"Who are you?" Mason asked.