Victor looked back.
“No pictures.”
Noah nodded.
“Thanks.”
The biker beside Victor, a heavy man with a reddish beard, said:
“You got somewhere to sleep tonight?”
Noah stopped chewing.
Victor looked at the man.
“No.”
The man frowned.
“I’m just asking.”
“Don't.”
Noah looked at Victor.
Victor’s eyes remained on the biker.
“He’ll tell us what he wants to tell us.”
Nobody argued.
Noah looked down at his plate.
He did not know why that kindness frightened him more than questions.
People usually wanted explanations before help.
Victor had reversed the order.
Food first.
Truth later.
Maybe.
Lily tugged Noah’s sleeve.
“Bathroom.”
Noah stood.
“I’ll take you.”
He grabbed his backpack.
Victor said:
“You can leave it.”
Noah’s grip tightened.
“It’s okay.”
The response was too fast.
Victor noticed.
Noah slung it onto his shoulder.
Lily followed him toward the hallway.
When they disappeared, the biker with the red beard leaned toward Victor.
“Those kids are homeless.”
Victor picked up his coffee.
“No kidding.”
“You calling somebody?”
“Maybe.”
“They’ll run.”
“Probably.”
Mara approached.
“I can call child services.”
Victor looked toward the restroom hallway.
“Not yet.”
Mara folded her arms.
“They’re children.”
“I know.”
“They’re alone.”
“I know.”
“What are you waiting for?”
Victor rubbed his jaw.
“For the boy to stop expecting every adult to take something.”
Mara softened.
“You think he’ll talk?”
“Maybe.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Victor looked toward the rain.
“Then we make sure they don't walk back into that.”
Noah returned first.
Lily followed.
They sat.
Mara walked away.
Noah noticed the adults had been talking.
He pretended not to.
Victor did the same.
They ate another ten minutes.
Then Noah realized something.
His backpack was wet inside.
He felt moisture against his back.
The side seam had split.
“Damn.”
Lily looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He removed the backpack.
Set it by his chair.
Bent down.
The torn pocket had opened completely.
A shirt corner hung out.
So did one of the folded letters.
Noah shoved them back.
Something else slipped free.
Leather.
Old.
Faded.
It dropped beside Victor’s boot.
Noah reached for it.
Victor moved faster.
Not aggressively.
Instinctively.
He picked it up.
The entire man changed.
Noah froze.
Victor stared at the patch.
It was about the size of his palm.
Black leather.
Weather cracked.
An old winged emblem stitched across the center.
Below it, faded letters.
ROAD SAINTS MC
Not the club Victor wore now.
Another one.
An older one.
Across the bottom was a small stitched name:
RAVEN
Victor stopped breathing.
The red-bearded biker beside him leaned over.
His face changed too.