Seeing Mr. Stacy was the last thing Jack expected.
"Mr. Stacy," Jack said, caught off guard. "Hey — how are you?"
"I'm fine," George said, his eyes already moving past Jack, scanning the room. "But you didn't answer my question. What are you doing here? This isn't exactly a place a kid your age should be wandering into."
His gaze dropped to the money in Jack's hand. Then he looked at the surrounding crowd. Jack followed his eyes and noticed it too. Many people were looking at Jack openly and hidden — like a prey.
"I just wanted to see what it was like," Jack said, tucking the money away quickly. "So I came to check it out."
George's expression didn't change. "This place is a den, Jack. Half the people in this room aren't here for the fights." He kept his voice low. "I don't know how many were planning to follow you out tonight, but showing cash like that in a place like this — that's careless."
Jack didn't argue. He knew he'd messed up. He'd gotten comfortable, riding the high of winning, and forgotten where he was.
"Sorry, Mr. Stacy," he said quietly. "I didn't think about that."
George looked at him for a moment, then let it go without another word about it.
"George, who's the kid?" a voice asked from beside him.
Jack turned. A man stood a step behind George — broad-shouldered, relaxed posture, the kind of guy who looked comfortable in any room. He looked like George's coworker.
"A friend of my daughter's," George told him, then gestured between them. "Jack, this is Edward Connor. My coworker."
"Hi, kid. Nice to meet you."
"Hello, Mr. Connor. Nice to meet you."
"Likewise, kid," Edward said, giving him a quick, easy smile.
Jack glanced between the two of them — casual clothes, no visible badges. They seemed like normal audience members.
"Are you two here on a case?" Jack asked.
Ed opened his mouth. "Yeah, we're investigating —"
"Ed." George's voice was flat. Just the name. But the look that came with it said everything.
Edward caught himself and cleared his throat. "Right. Sorry, kid — can't get into it. You know how it is. Classified."
"Fair enough," Jack said. "I'll get out of your way then."
"No," George said, and his tone left no room for debate. "You're not walking out of here alone. Not right now." He glanced toward the exits, then back at Jack. "We're done with what we came for. We'll leave together."
Jack weighed his options. There weren't many. "Alright."
The three of them moved toward the exit, Jack falling into step between them. The crowd thinned as they neared the door, the bass from the speakers fading behind them.
"You shouldn't be out alone at night," George said as they walked. "Not in areas like this."
"Seriously, kid," Edward added, picking up the thread easily. "You don't know what moves around New York after dark. I've worked enough cases to know — the city looks different at night, and not in a good way. Do your parents even know you're here?"
He asked it lightly, like it was an obvious question.
"I live alone," Jack said.
Ed went quiet. He glanced at George, who gave the faintest nod.
"Sorry, kid," Ed said. "Didn't mean anything by it."
"It's fine," Jack said. "I never really got to know them, so it doesn't bother me."
He said it simply, without weight, the way someone says something they've long since made their peace with. Ed didn't push further.
They stepped out into the parking area, the night air cooler and quieter than inside. Jack exhaled — then noticed George's hand move toward the gun as he took a defensive position.
Jack followed his gaze.
Three men near the lot entrance. Three more drifting in from the side. Positioned too deliberately to be coincidence. They circled them.
"Six," Ed said under his breath.
George stepped forward slightly, putting himself between the group and Jack. His voice came out steady and hard. "What do you want?"
The gun came out as he said it. Ed mirrored him a half-second later, shifting to cover the flank.
The group's confidence evaporated. Two of them actually stepped back.
"Whoa — hey, easy, man," the one in front said, hands coming up fast. "We just want to talk. That's it. Calm down."
"Really? Because before you saw the gun, it looked a little different to me," Edward said, mocking him.
"Hands up. Police."
One guy tried to escape.
"Don't run or I'll shoot." Hearing the threat, the remaining guys stopped and surrendered.
One by one they raised their hands and dropped to their knees without being told twice. George kept his eyes on them while he reached for his radio and called it in.
The backup arrived within minutes — a single car rolling into the lot, headlights cutting across the ground. The door opened and a woman stepped out, already reading the scene as she walked toward them.
George looked up. "Why are you here?"
"Both our teams were running parallel on the same case," the woman said, falling into the easy rhythm of someone used to coordinating on the fly. "I was working a nearby lead when your call came through, so I came first." She glanced at the men on the ground. "What are we dealing with?"
"Small-time," George said. "Take them."
She nodded and turned to direct the officers behind her — then stopped. Her eyes landed on Jack.
She studied him for a second, something clicking. "You're the one from before. From the bus." She paused, trying to pull the name. "Jack… Stone?"
"Walker," Jack said. "Jack Walker."
"Right — Walker, sorry. I'm terrible with names." A brief, slightly embarrassed smile crossed her face. "I'm Officer Jean."
George frowned slightly. "You two know each other?"
Jean gave him the short version — the bus, the shooting, the chaos, what Jack and another kid had done in the middle of it.
George was quiet for a moment. "Gwen didn't say a word about any of this."
"We didn't tell anyone," Jack said. "So she wouldn't know."
George looked at him with an expression that was hard to read exactly — somewhere between concern and something older than that. "I don't know what to say. You were both doing something genuinely dangerous." He held Jack's gaze for a beat. "Don't do it again. I mean that."
Jack nodded.
Jean turned to Edward and got a quick explanation of the ambush — the money, the crowd, Jack wandering out alone. When Ed finished, she let out a short laugh.
"Sounds like trouble follows you around," she said, glancing at Jack.
He didn't have a great answer to that.
"Any leads from tonight?" she asked, shifting back to George.
"Nothing," George said. "Same as every other time."
Jean's expression flattened. "At this rate, if we don't find something solid before the next incident, the case gets transferred to the FBI." She said it without drama, just fact. "Which would not look great for the department."
George didn't say anything.
Hearing them talk about some killer case, Jack was curious about that.
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