Hank counted the bikes twice, then shook his head. "Seventy-three," he said. "We haven't had this many people here since the old warehouse benefit."
Maria looked down the line and smiled. "Turns out if you invite people without telling them how they ought to grieve, more of them come."
Tommy arrived beside two riders from another county, one of whom had attended an outreach event months earlier. He parked near Graham, pulled off his helmet, and stared at the gathered machines with a stunned expression. Cassie saw him look toward the place where he had once left the club alone, and for a moment she could almost see the younger man beside him, sitting on the roadside fifteen years ago and believing there was no way back.
Graham came over carrying the old cut folded across both forearms. "Ready?" he asked.
Cassie nodded, though she did not entirely feel ready. She was wearing proper riding gear, and the ceremonial cut had been carefully adjusted so it would sit securely and comfortably over her jacket. Maria checked the fit twice and tucked the new name panel into place beneath the founding patch.
"Don't carry your father's years like a weight you're supposed to lift all at once," Maria told her. "Just carry the part that's yours today."
Cassie looked down at the vest. She could feel the old leather across her shoulders, warmer than she expected. The patch did not suddenly make her an adult, an experienced rider, or a full member of a club she had known for only weeks. It reminded her that someone had trusted her to hold a story without making herself its center.
Near the clubhouse door, Parker stood beside his sister, hands in his jacket pockets, looking at the gathered motorcycles. Cassie waved. He raised one hand in return, then looked toward Derek, who was walking along the row checking that everybody knew the ride formation. Derek spoke to him for a moment, and Parker nodded before climbing into a car with several other outreach guests who preferred not to travel on motorcycles.
Cassie saw the exchange and felt quietly pleased. The Iron Wolves had made room for somebody without demanding that he prove he belonged by doing something frightening. It would not look as dramatic in photographs as seventy-three bikes on the highway. To her, it mattered more.
Graham called everyone together beneath the flagpole. He waited until the conversations stopped, then stood with a paper route map in his hand. His voice was not as powerful as it had been when he was young, but people leaned in to hear him.
"We've ridden this road a lot of years," he said. "Today isn't a race and it isn't a show. We're going to Riverside to remember people who aren't able to ride with us. We honor them by getting everybody there and home safely. Keep the spacing we agreed on, follow the ride leaders, and if something doesn't feel right, signal and stop. Nobody gets left behind because we don't want to lose five minutes."
He looked over at Tommy and Derek. "We've got more people here than usual. That's a good problem to have. Let's handle it like a family that knows how to take care of its own."