The night had gone still by the time Rocket locked up the boxing ring. The echo of fists on canvas and the smell of chalk dust lingered like ghosts in the air, but the noise had faded hours ago, leaving only the hum of the neon sign outside and the faint buzz of crickets along the empty street. He leaned against the worn brick wall, one boot pressed to it, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. Smoke curled up into the cool autumn air, catching the light from the lamp above the door before fading into the dark.

In his other hand was the sealed envelope. The paper felt heavier than it should, edges pressed crisp against his calloused fingers. Brent’s sister had dropped it off earlier that day, her face pale but steady, her voice soft when she’d said it was something Brent meant for him to have. He hadn’t opened it. Not yet. The thought of it sitting unopened felt easier than the truth waiting inside. With a quiet breath, he slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket and let it rest there. Some things could wait until morning.

The town was quieter than usual. Most shops had already gone dark, save for the small salon three doors down, where light still spilled onto the sidewalk in a soft golden square. When the door opened, a familiar figure stepped out, locking up and brushing loose strands of hair from her face. Rocket watched her walk toward her car, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. He took one last drag from his cigarette before letting the smoke drift from his lips.

“Didn’t think anyone else would still be around this late,” he said, voice low and calm, the corner of his mouth tugging into the faintest hint of a smile.