So I kissed Chibs on the cheek, grabbed my jacket, and headed outside. "I'll be back in a bit," I told him. He looked up from where he sat beside Jax. "Where ye goin', lass?" he asked. "For a walk," I replied, putting my jacket on.  His expression softened. "Want me to come with ye?" he and I stopped, shaking my head. "Not this time, sweet husband," I replied softly. He studied me for a moment before nodding. "Alright. Take yer time," he said with a soft nod. I smiled faintly and leaned down to kiss him again. "I will," I said in the same soft tone. Then I left. The afternoon was cool, with a breeze that carried the smell of dry leaves and distant rain. I walked without a destination, hands tucked into my jacket pockets, letting my boots carry me wherever they pleased. The conversation with Filip kept replaying in my head. The others had to go to prison. Jax. Bobby. Happy. Juice. The thought of Juice sitting behind bars made my chest tighten. He was practically my little brother, and the idea of him being thrown into a place where I couldn't check on him, couldn't make sure he was eating properly, couldn't give him a hard time when he did something stupid— I stopped walking. "Okay, Riley," I muttered to myself. "One thing at a time," I softly added. I knew I couldn't change what was coming. I couldn't fix everything just because I wanted to. And I couldn't spend every waking second worrying about something that hadn't happened yet. So I kept walking. For once, I let myself be nobody's nurse. Nobody's wife. Nobody's protector. Just Riley. And for a little while, that was enough. By the time I returned to Teller-Morrow, the clubhouse was already buzzing. I heard the voices before I reached the door. Jax was speaking rapidly. Bobby interrupted him. Clay's deeper voice cut through the others, followed by Tig arguing about something that sounded suspiciously like a terrible idea. I stepped inside. The main room looked like somebody had dumped an entire planning committee into it and forgotten to provide a moderator. Papers covered the table. Several men stood around it, talking over one another. Jax leaned forward with both hands braced against the wood while Bobby pointed at a page. Clay listened with his arms folded, occasionally adding something that made the conversation start all over again. Happy stood near the wall, looking as cheerful as a man attending his own execution. Juice sat beside him, turning a pen between his fingers. And Chibs— My husband sat near the end of the table, listening carefully. The moment he saw me, his eyes found mine. He didn't interrupt the conversation. He simply gave me a small, reassuring nod. I returned it. Then I quietly took off my jacket and hung it near the door. Nobody seemed to notice me at first. Which was fine. I wasn't there to join the discussion. I wasn't there to offer solutions or ask questions they probably couldn't answer yet. I had spent enough time outside trying to accept what was coming. Now I just wanted to be near my family without having to think about it. I walked into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, and leaned against the counter. "...If we do it that way, we're going to have a problem with the timing," Bobby said from the main room. "We already have a problem with the timing," Jax replied. "Then we change the timing." I heard Tig say. "That's not how it works, Tig," Bobby replied. "Well, it should," Tig answered. I closed my eyes briefly. There it was. The familiar chaos of SAMCRO. Even the possibility of prison couldn't stop them from arguing like a pack of stubborn children. A small smile tugged at my mouth. Then it faded. Because the laughter that usually followed their ridiculous arguments wasn't coming as easily today. I carried my water into the living room and settled into a chair away from the table. I listened without really listening. Names. Dates. Arrangements. Plans. Every few minutes, someone would get up, pace across the room, and return with another suggestion. I kept my mouth shut. Not because I didn't care. Because I cared too much. If I started asking questions, I'd want answers. If I started offering solutions, I'd want to fix things. And if I let myself get pulled into the conversation, I was afraid the worry I'd been holding together all afternoon would finally spill out. So I stayed quiet. After a while, Filip glanced over again. I was sitting with one leg tucked beneath me, my glass resting on the arm of the chair. He knew me well enough to recognize the difference between peaceful silence and the kind I used when I was trying to keep myself together. His gaze lingered. I gave him a tiny smile. I'm alright. He didn't look entirely convinced. But he let me have the space. The discussion continued. Jax's voice rose. Clay disagreed. Bobby tried to bring them back to the point. Tig made a comment that earned him three separate glares. I watched them all for a moment. These men had become my family in ways I never could have predicted. They were loud, stubborn, reckless, and occasionally so stupid that I wondered how any of them had survived this long. But they were my people. And soon, some of them would be gone. I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked down at my hands. Not yet. Today, they were still here. Jax was still arguing with Bobby. Juice was still fidgeting with that pen. Happy was still standing guard in the corner as though the walls might suddenly attack. And Chibs was still only a few feet away. For now, I could live with that. I didn't need to participate in every conversation. I didn't need to make myself useful every second.