I glanced around, noting how the others were reacting. Most kept to themselves, casting furtive glances his way but saying nothing. At the Rusted Chain, silence was a language of its own.
The president, a younger guy who had taken over just months ago, was in the corner, talking to one of the senior members. He hadn’t noticed the boy yet, or if he had, he was pretending not to.
“You got a name?” I asked, trying to get a bit more from him.
“Eli,” he replied, his voice still barely above a whisper.
There was something about him, a quiet strength maybe, that made me want to know more. But this wasn’t the place to pry.
“Alright, Eli,” I said, “Let me see what I can do.”
He nodded, a small relief flashing across his face.
As I moved away, I felt the weight of the unknown settle in. This wasn’t just about offering a kid a job—it was about what this meant for the club.
The club was at a crossroads, with old traditions being questioned and new alliances being considered. Eli’s presence could tip the scales in any direction.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
