The Tattoo Nobody Mentioned
One of the men, Boone Callister, let out a short, uneasy laugh.
“A lot of folks have road tattoos, kid.”
The girl shook her head.
“Not like that one.”
Rowan glanced down at his arm.
The old tattoo seemed darker under the café lights.
The winding road.
The small star.
The design he had stopped explaining long ago.
“Where did you see it?” Rowan asked.
The girl met his gaze without hesitation.
“On my daddy’s arm.”
The men exchanged uneasy looks.
The waitress stood frozen near the counter, unsure whether to step forward or stay back.
Rowan leaned in slightly, careful not to frighten her.
“What’s your dad’s name?”
The girl lowered her voice.
Not out of fear.
But as if she understood the importance of what she was about to say.
“Colter.”
The café seemed to fall silent.
Not instantly.
Gradually.
As if every sound had been quietly pulled from the room.
Boone’s smile vanished.
Another man, Everett Shaw, gripped the edge of the table.
The youngest, Marcus Vale, whispered under his breath.
“No.”
Rowan didn’t move.
He stared at the child as if she had brought a ghost through the door.
