No one asked questions after that.

Two bikers moved to the doors and slammed them shut, throwing the bar into deeper shadow. The boy flinched at the sound, but the biker leader put one heavy hand on his shoulder.

“You’re safe behind me.”

The boy looked up, barely breathing.

Outside, someone knocked once.

Slow.

Calm.

The entire room stiffened.

The leader picked up the blood-stained coin and turned it in his fingers. The symbol was old, worn, and feared by every man in that room.

“This isn’t your father’s,” he said.

The boy’s lips trembled.

“He said it belonged to the man who betrayed him.”

The biker leader’s eyes darkened.

A voice came from outside the door.

“Send out the child.”

The boy grabbed the biker’s vest.

The leader stood, and every biker rose with him.

Then the boy whispered one more thing:

“My dad said… if they followed me here, it means he’s already dead.”

The biker looked at the locked doors.

Then a second voice outside said:

“He’s not dead.”

And the bar went silent.