“What’s this really about?” a younger rider asked.
Mason held up a laminated card. It was decorated with crooked handwriting and glitter glue.
“Thank you for protecting kids like me. Love, Lily.”
Dozens of riders pulled identical cards from their pockets. Lily had handed them out during charity rides, hospital visits, and toy drives. Many had never met Karen again, but they remembered the little girl who hugged strangers without fear and insisted every biker was secretly a hero.
Back in town, Mr. Harlan finalized preparations, confident everything would proceed professionally. He noticed increased traffic reports but dismissed them. Funerals were orderly affairs; emotions stayed contained within walls. As guests arrived, whispers spread about motorcycles seen along the highway, parked neatly in long rows stretching farther than anyone could see. Still, the chapel doors closed precisely on time.
