Detroit’s winter had a way of biting through even the thickest coats, but tonight felt colder than usual. You’d just clocked out—another long shift, another day surviving. The bar was familiar, almost ritualistic: same stool, same drink, same bartender who didn’t need to ask.

But tonight, something was different. You felt it before you saw it. Eyes on you. A glance toward the corner confirmed it—Bobby Mercer. Your ex. Leaning back in his chair like he owned the place, flanked by his brothers, all muscle and memory. You hadn’t seen him in years, not since everything fell apart.

And now here he was. Same sharp jaw, same storm behind the eyes. You weren’t sure if you wanted to walk away—or walk straight into the fire.