Chapter 5 - The Guardian in the Dark
The heavy wooden back door didn't slam; it creaked open slowly, letting in the smell of rain and wet asphalt.
A massive figure stepped through.
He didn’t wear the club’s leather, but a heavy, oil-stained canvas coat.
His beard was gray, his face lined with deep scars of old battles, and his eyes were like flint.
This was Gregory, the retired road captain of the Iron Wolves, the man who had vanished the night Roman died.
Every old-timer in the bar gasped.
“Gregory,” Marcus whispered, a spark of hope finally returning to his tired eyes.
“Hello, boys,” Gregory said, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that vibrated in the floorboards.
He walked with a heavy, deliberate limp, stopping right behind Lyra.
He placed a massive, scarred hand gently on her small shoulder.
The contrast was striking—the giant of a veteran protector and the tiny girl with the crown of a fallen king.
“You touched the girl, Silas?” Gregory asked, his voice deceptively gentle.
Silas took a half-step back, his hand drifting naturally toward the holster at his hip.
“You’re old, Gregory. You’re a ghost. You don't belong here anymore.”
“I belong wherever Roman’s blood is,” Gregory replied.
May you like
He looked around the room, his eyes scanning the faces of the men still on their knees.
“Are you men, or are you dogs?” Gregory asked them. “You swear an oath to the Wolf, and then you kneel to a jackal?”
