“It’s motorcycles.”
“It’s inappropriate.”
“Give it back.”
“You don’t tell me what to do.”
He dropped it into a trash bin.
Sky lunged for it.
Deller interpreted that as aggression.
She lost recreation privileges.
That night she retrieved the book from an outdoor trash bag.
Then left.
No one authorized it.
She slipped out during an evening transition when another resident returned from an appointment.
She walked four miles.
Caught a bus with saved cash.
Slept in the station.
Worked small odd jobs.
Accepted food from churches and convenience-store clerks.
Avoided police.
Avoided shelters because she believed they would return her immediately.
For twelve days she moved toward the only place Luther had described as family.
Iron Jaws.
“How did you find us?” Lucy asked.
Sky shrugged.
“The internet.”
“Hollow would hate that.”
“He thought computers were sorcery.”
Lucy smiled.
“He wasn’t completely wrong.”
Then Lucy asked the question she had been avoiding.
“Why do you think someone besides child services is looking for you?”
Sky’s eyes lifted sharply.
“Who told you?”
“No one.”
“You asked.”
“You keep looking at every dark car near the garage.”
Sky said nothing.
Lucy waited.
Finally:
“A man came to Briar twice.”
“What man?”
“Michael.”
Lucy’s skin chilled.
“Last name?”
“Ventry.”
There it was.
A name buried in Iron Jaws history.
Michael Ventry.
Former Steel Chains member.
Seventeen years older than Sky.
His brother, Damon Ventry, died the same night Luther crashed.
Two separate highways.
Two separate crash investigations.
One shared rumor.
The Steel Chains convinced themselves Luther had been involved.
Police reports never supported it.
Gregory had ridden beside Luther until fifteen minutes before Luther turned toward home.
Damon Ventry crashed nearly an hour later, thirty-eight miles away.
But grief rarely respects geography when anger offers a cleaner story.
“What did Michael want?” Lucy asked.
“He said he knew Luther.”
“Did staff let him speak with you?”
“First time, no.”
“Second?”
“He was outside when we went to a dental appointment.”
Lucy sat straighter.
“He approached you?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Sky stared at her hands.
“He said I was carrying a dead man’s debt.”
Lucy felt cold.
“Exactly?”
“Pretty much.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“He said some families leave damage behind.”
Lucy stood.
“Where are you going?”
“To call Martha.”
“Don’t.”
“Sky.”
“He’ll know where I am.”
“If he already hired someone to find you, he may know anyway.”
Sky’s face changed.
“How do you know about that?”
Lucy stopped.
“We don’t yet.”
She sat again.
“No more half-truths.”
Sky nodded slowly.
Lucy told her what Jeff had found.
Old emails.
A law firm inquiry around Luther’s custody petition.
Michael Ventry’s name appearing once in an unredacted exchange.
Recent public-record traces suggesting Ventry had hired a licensed private investigator who specialized in locating missing persons and runaways.
Not illegal by itself.
Potentially concerning given the history.
Sky wrapped both arms around herself.
“He wants me back there.”
“We don’t know what he wants.”
“Yes, we do.”
“Tell me.”
“He hated Luther.”
Lucy did not argue.
The old custody records made things worse before they made them better.
Gregory and Jeff spent an entire afternoon in the Iron Jaws records room digging through old storage boxes.
Tax returns.
Lease agreements.