The six of them went in, keeping the same order that they always had.

Only this time, the men were inadvertently protecting Mae as well since she stood in the circle next to Sera. But they didn’t mind. They would do whatever they needed to do to keep that relaxed look on her face.

And Mae seemed to be able to give her something that they couldn’t.

The room beyond was all hard edges and soft manners: white cloth that had never seen a stain in its life, plates that matched, and chairs set at measured distances.

At the far end of the long table, a man in a white cowboy hat sat with his leather gloves folded neatly beside his plate and his badge turned so the engraving faced the door.

He did not stand.

He did not offer a hand.

It was like he barely even noticed their existence.

Clearly, he thought he was used to being the biggest predator in the room, and Sera couldn’t blame him for that.

She wondered how he would react to knowing that the creature inside of her wanted to rip off his head and drink his blood like a finely aged glass of wine for his blatant disrespect.

She felt the men shift around her in that small way they did when the room required a different type of awareness to stay alive.

Lachlan’s palm brushed the back of her sleeve in a touch anyone else would have missed entirely.

Elias’s shoulder nearly grazed hers, not because he needed to be close but because he needed to know where she was without looking.

Alexei’s weight settled between his feet like a line drawn with a blade across a map. And Zubair’s breath went deep, slow, and stayed there.

The Sheriff’s eyes—shadowed under the brim—lifted and held Sera’s for the exact amount of time it takes to count a debt.

"Ma’am," he said.

Mae’s fingers—the ones still on Sera’s sleeve—tightened once and let go.

"Sheriff," Sera returned, voice even, her hands folded neatly in front of her, not touching the table, not touching anything that could cause troubles later.

She promised to be boring, and she was going to try her best to fall in line.

He regarded the brass at her throat and the brass at her bodice and the way the dress had been cut for a woman who had never learned to apologize for standing where she chose.

Then he nodded at the chairs nearest him as if they were instruments laid out for an autopsy.

"Sit," he said. "Eat, or don’t. Either way, you’re leaving when we’re done talking."

Mae’s breath caught...too light to hear unless you were standing right beside her. She lifted her parasol handle to her lips and pretended it had been a cough.

Sera took the chair to the Sheriff’s left because it was the only one that made sense if you were going to make a person choose which side of you to fear.

The men took their places without being told where to put their hands.

Luci lay under the table with his head on Sera’s boot, as if the world had always made sense this way.

A slow moment passed. The room watched itself be silent.

"Name," the Sheriff said. He didn’t look at Mae. He didn’t need to.

Sera tipped her head a fraction, the way she’d seen queens move in books and in movies. "I have many. Does it matter which one I give you?"

"It always matters," he said. "Outsiders are variables. Variables break towns."

Mae’s knuckles went white on the parasol handle, but she kept smiling.

Sera looked at the neat badge. The engraving wasn’t letters. It was lines that looked like roots, or antlers, or the inside of a clock you couldn’t take apart without forgetting how to put it back together.

She thought about Mae’s list. Don’t smile. Don’t offer. Don’t drink his coffee. Don’t touch his table.

She thought about the line between choice and control.

"Sera," she said after a moment. Not a lie, but not the complete truth. It wasn’t her fault if he heard Sarah and not something short for Seraphina.

The Sheriff’s mouth didn’t move, but his attention did. "You came in through the north road."

"We followed a lane that was available off the highway," Elias said, his voice quiet and respectful as he tried to anchor the conversation in facts. "But I will admit that there were no signs."

"There aren’t supposed to be," the Sheriff replied. "Nobody is supposed to find Perdition unless you already know that it is there."

Sera felt her smile again, slow and real this time. "We’re very good at finding what we’re not meant to."

"You won’t be good at staying," he said. "You’re leaving."

Zubair didn’t relax. He did ease, just a shade. A decision had already been made. Decisions were easier to survive than questions.

"And if we don’t?" Lachlan asked, not only because he like to stir the pot, but because someone always asked. And because the world still needed people who poked the bear whenever they could.

The Sheriff’s eyes never left Sera. "Then you will be breaking our laws. When the bell calls, you’ll be the first thing it names. You won’t ride with the Hunt, halflings aren’t pure enough to. Only the best of the best ride. You’ll be the thing the Hunt runs down."

Mae’s hand shifted on her parasol until the knuckles eased, color returning to her knuckles in a slow tide.

Sera let the room settle again. She didn’t touch the cup that wasn’t coffee. She didn’t reach for the bread that wasn’t warm.

"Then we’ll go," she said. "When we’re done talking."

"You’re done," the Sheriff returned. He reached for his gloves and set one on top of the other like closing a book. "Fuel is at the depot. South road. Don’t stop. Don’t turn. Don’t look back. Before the light forgets itself."

Sera stood.

The men followed, not in a line, not like soldiers—like planets changing orbits and taking gravity with them.

Luci got to his feet and yawned because dire wolves are allowed to be impolite in places where politeness is only a kind of weapon.

Mae didn’t move until Sera did.

Then she turned enough to make the parasol a shield without making it a shield at all. "Thank you for your hospitality, Sheriff," she said, the way one sovereign speaks to another when both of them like the people they rule too much to start a war for the pleasure of it.

The Sheriff’s hat dipped an inch.

They left the way they came, without leaving anything behind that could be counted later and used against them.

Only when the lobby swallowed them again did Lachlan breathe out the line he’d been sitting on.

"Right," he said. "Let’s be boring."

Sera laughed once, quiet and bright. It felt like a coin flicked into a well.

Outside, the light stayed wrong and perfect.

They had time.

Not much, but it was enough.

And time, here, weighed more than bullets.