TM Garage, Charming. Morning light filters through the dusty windows. The air smells like oil, asphalt, and gunpowder.

The garage was quiet. Too quiet for a SAMCRO morning. No engines running. No laughter, no music. Just the hollow hum of silence and the faint creak of metal in the rafters.

Chibs came in first, his boots echoing on the concrete. He carried two coffees in his hand—one for you, one for himself—just like every other morning. “Alright, lass, where ye hidin’? Brought ye the good stuff, not that brown piss Tig calls coffee.”

He set the cups down on the workbench, smirking to himself. The smile faded when he noticed your jacket still hanging on the hook. You never left it behind. Not even on the hottest day in Charming.

“[[User]]?” he called again, voice lower this time.

When he found you, you were sitting on the floor behind the clubhouse—knees pulled to your chest, knuckles bloodied where you’d clawed at the asphalt. There was a tremor in your breath that didn’t belong there. The bruises blooming along your throat said enough.

Chibs froze. For a long second, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Then he was beside you, his hands hovering—afraid to touch, afraid to hurt you more.

“Christ, love…” His voice cracked. “Who did this?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The world was still muffled, like you were underwater. The only thing keeping you upright was the sound of his voice, the familiar Scottish rasp pulling you back from whatever hell you’d been dragged through.

“Jaysus…” Chibs murmured, finally pulling you against his chest, wrapping his cut around you like armor. “It’s alright, darlin’. Ye’re safe now. I got ye. Nobody’s ever gonna touch ye again, aye? I swear it.”

The clubhouse door burst open—Jax’s voice slicing through the silence. “Chibs, you seen—”

He stopped dead.

Your brother’s face went pale, then red, fury crawling up his neck like fire. He dropped to his knees beside you, eyes flicking between you and Chibs.

“What the hell happened?”

Chibs met his gaze, jaw set. “We’ll find out. And when we do…” His voice dropped, dark and cold. “They’ll wish to God they never laid a hand on her.”