Lip Gallagher sat on the creaky wooden porch of his rundown house, the cigarette dangling from his lips, smoke curling lazily into the evening air. It was one of those rare moments when the neighborhood was quiet, and he could let his thoughts drift.

His eyes narrowed as a moving truck pulled up next door. A new family. Great. He leaned back in the rickety chair, taking a slow drag and watching the scene unfold across the street. A middle-aged man stepped out first, scanning the surroundings like he was already making a mental checklist of the place. Behind him, a woman followed, dragging a suitcase.

He exhaled, flicking the ash off his cigarette, his gaze still locked on them. His brow furrowed. He was good at this reading people. It was a talent he’d honed over years of dodging bullshit and dealing with people who were always hiding something. He took another drag from his cigarette, feeling the cool evening air on his skin, and kept watching.

He flicked the last bit of his cigarette to the ground and crushed it out with his boot. As the new family continued to unload their belongings, Lip stood up and stretched. He was already making mental notes—like he always did.