That night Gregory stood beside the garage's locked front gate while the others finished closing. A pickup slowed on the frontage road, passed the entrance, and continued toward town. He could not know whether the driver had any connection to the investigator, and he refused to turn the ordinary movement of traffic into proof. But the questions had stopped feeling theoretical. Somebody was looking for Sky, and the garage had become a place where she might finally be found. Gregory went inside, took the napkin from the safe drawer in the office, and studied the serpent's broken jaw until he remembered exactly how Luther had explained it.
"Nothing is strong because it never breaks," Luther had told him while painting the emblem. "It's strong because you know where the break is and you build the rest to hold." Gregory had laughed at the time, accusing his friend of finding poetry in a ruined piece of machinery. Now he looked at the folded paper and wondered whether the thing he had been calling the club's strength all these years was really only its ability to frighten people. If they were going to help Luther's sister, they would need another kind of strength, one that could survive an interview, a home inspection, and a judge who did not care how many motorcycles waited outside.
The first time Sky visited Gregory's house, she was surprised by how little it resembled the garage. It stood on a quiet residential street beneath two enormous maple trees, with a low porch, clean windows, and a garden that had gone slightly wild around the edges. A weathered wooden swing hung from the porch beam, and inside there were framed pictures of Gregory's late wife, Helen, beside photographs of nieces and nephews who visited on holidays. In the spare bedroom stood a made bed, a small writing desk, and a bookshelf holding novels Gregory admitted he had never finished. He showed the room without calling it hers.
Natalie had accompanied Sky on the visit, and Martha had already explained what a possible placement would require. The court could consider Gregory as an individual caregiver if he met the standards for an approved connection-based placement, but a motorcycle club could not simply receive guardianship like a person. There would be background checks, interviews, a review of his income and household, and a plan for school, medical care, and supervision. Gregory would also need to accept that Sky's wishes mattered without making her responsible for the final legal decision. He had told Martha that he was willing to do all of it.
"You live here alone?" Sky asked. "Mostly," he said. "My sister comes by and tells me I'm getting old. Terry and his family show up on Sundays sometimes.