Chapter 6 6

The door opened, bringing a gust of cold air and the smell of concrete dust.

Kamron Cobb walked in first. He looked older than his photo. His shoulders were slumped, his work boots caked in grey lime.

Behind him was a giant of a man. Mason. He had tattoos on his forearms and eyes that missed nothing.

Trailing them was the youngest, Lucas, wearing headphones around his neck and a scowl that seemed permanent.

They stopped dead when they saw the Louis Vuitton trunks blocking the entryway.

"Are those... are those real?" Lucas asked, his eyes wide as he took in the monogrammed leather. "Those trunks cost more than our truck."

Journey didn't miss a beat. "High-quality replicas," she lied smoothly, patting the lid of a trunk that was worth fifty thousand dollars. "I got them on Canal Street years ago. They look good, don't they?"

Lucas snorted, the awe replaced by dismissal. "Fake. Figures. Just like the princess act."

"Kamron," Elara said, her voice shaking with joy. "This is... this is Journey."

Kamron's hard hat fell from his grip. It hit the floor with a loud clack. He stared at Journey, his mouth working silently. He looked like he was seeing a ghost.

"Shut up, Lucas," Nolan snapped, stepping in.

Journey looked at Lucas. She didn't blink. "Yes. They kicked me out. I'm homeless now."

Lucas blinked. He had expected a defense, not an agreement. He looked away, muttering.

Mason hadn't moved. He was staring at Journey's face. His eyes were narrowed, focused on her eyes.

"We've met," Mason said. His voice was gravel.

The room went quiet.

Journey turned to him. Her heart skipped a beat. Six months ago, she had been in a dive bar in Brooklyn, scouting a location. A fight had broken out. She had stepped in, using a connection to call off the local gang members who were cornering a bartender.

That bartender was Mason. She had been wearing a mask-part of her "Luna" persona when she went underground-but her eyes...

"Maybe in a dream?" Journey smiled. It was her media smile. Perfect. Impenetrable. "You have a familiar face."

Mason didn't buy it. He took a step closer, radiating suspicion. He remembered the authority in that woman's voice. He saw the same steel in Journey's posture. But the woman in the bar had been surrounded by bodyguards in the shadows. This girl was here, dragging fake Louis Vuitton trunks up four flights of stairs.

"I used to work catering events," Journey added, offering a plausible alternative. "Maybe I served you a drink once?"

Mason paused. The explanation was logical, even if his gut screamed otherwise. He slowly uncrossed his arms.

Kamron stepped forward, breaking the tension. He wiped his hands on his dirty pants, then held them out, palms up. He didn't dare touch her.

"Child..." Kamron's voice cracked. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry we let you down."

Journey reached out and took his hands. They were rough, like sandpaper. They were warm.

"You didn't let me down," she said. "I'm lucky to be here."

Mason watched her hold his father's dirty hands. The hostility in his eyes receded a fraction, replaced by confusion. The woman who saved him had looked at the grime of the bar with the same indifference.

"Alright," Elara said, clapping her hands nervously. "Wash up. Dinner."

"We don't have foie gras," Lucas muttered as he squeezed past Journey.

"I'll eat anything that isn't poison," Journey retorted.

Lucas paused, looking back at her with grudging respect.

Mason passed her last. He leaned in, his voice a low rumble only she could hear.

"I don't know who you really are," he whispered. "But if you're lying to them, I'll find out."