Chapter 5
chapter five
Christine barely noticed when the last of Dax’s D&D players filtered out.
She was already deep in thought, swirling and sniffing a glass of Hog Daddy, her newest porter.
Foam clung to the rim, stubborn and imperfect, like the recipe itself.
The bacon extract should’ve hit stronger, but the smoked malt overpowered it.
Too much? Not enough? Who the hell knew anymore?
That was brewing for you. A never-ending cycle of high hopes, bold ideas, and the occasional taste of failure disguised as “nuance.”
Across the room, Dax muttered something to Eden. Christine didn’t catch the setup, but she caught the punchline.
“You had to unionize the beholder, didn’t you?” he asked, exasperated.
Eden just shrugged, zipping up her worn bomber jacket—the vintage kind, real fabric, real weight. “The little guy deserved better benefits.”
Christine snorted softly into her glass. Of course she did.
Eden was like that. Effortless in a way that shouldn’t have been legal.
She had this air about her, like she was always two steps ahead of everyone and just waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.
Not tall, but carried herself like she could bench-press the sun.
Chin high, shoulders back, every movement calculated to say: you should be paying attention to me.
And people did.
She was magnetic in a way that made everyone sharpen around her.
People tried harder when she was in the room, like being mediocre in her presence was a crime.
Her skin glowed under the brewery’s warm-toned bulbs, which she constantly reminded Dax were an overpriced indulgence, but Christine had to admit, they looked damn good on her.
The curls, the cheekbones, the slow curve of her smirk when she knew she was about to say something that would wreck someone’s worldview… it was all very Eden.
But there was more under the surface. Christine had seen it.
Beneath the warmth, the ink scrawled along her arms, the jokes and sly charm, there was sharpness.
Not cruel, just… precise. Like Eden could dissect a system or a person without breaking a sweat.
She didn’t posture. She didn’t have to. You got the sense she could burn down a data center or a government office with the same casual efficiency she used to crash Dax’s campaign.
Christine had no idea how Eden got her hands on the things she did.
Financial systems. Government servers. Law enforcement databases.
Firewalls didn’t apply to her. Eden could break into places that required top clearance and a full team of cybersecurity mercs, except she did it with a chipped tablet and a playlist of angry lesbians screaming over synth beats.
No one asked too many questions. Christine sure as hell didn’t.
“Try not to get arrested,” Dax muttered, like he knew she wouldn’t listen.
Eden offered him a two-finger salute and tossed a wink over her shoulder. “No promises.”
And with that, she was out the door, off to poke the hornet’s nest one more time.
Christine let out a breath and turned her attention back to the glass in her hand. Still not quite right. She set it down just as the front door thudded open.
“Did I miss it?”
Spencer.
She crashed through the doorway like a hurricane in leggings, her duffel bag immediately catching on the hinge and yanking her halfway back out the door. “Fuck. Really?”
Christine just stood there, arms crossed, waiting for the chaos to resolve itself.
The bag finally popped free and fell to the floor with a whimper. Spencer kicked it for good measure, straightened her spine like she’d won something, and gave the room a victorious smirk.
Silver, perched on the bar like she owned it, raised one bored eyebrow. “You always this graceful, or is today special?”
Christine braced herself.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Spencer shot back. “Did you want me to pirouette in here?”
“You could try,” Silver said sweetly. “Would probably go about as well as your last attempt at flying a drone.”
Christine stepped in before Spencer could body-slam her across the bar. “Okay. Before this turns into a cage match, can we just taste the damn beer?”
She handed out the tulips like communion wine. Spencer downed hers in one swallow.
“Mmm,” she said, banging the glass on the counter. “Tastes like I’m about to tell someone exactly what I think of them.”
And then, predictably, she turned to Silver.
Silver didn’t even blink. “Go on, then. Ruin my day.”
Christine muttered into her glass. “Oh my God. Please stop.”
But of course, they didn’t.
Silver slid another sample over with a grin. Spencer took her time with it this round, sipping like it was a fine wine instead of a smoky bacon porter.
“Turns out I love me some Hog Daddy.”
Silver’s eyes gleamed. “That right?”
Christine groaned and shut them both down with a pointed look. “Tonight starts at six sharp. Huge crowd. Possibly a line out the door. Spence, you and I are on crowlers. Silver, you and Dax are running the bar.”
Silver groaned. “If some dude explains IBUs to me again, I’m biting someone.”
Christine sighed, then hesitated before adding, “Also… there are new posters on the side of the building. Real fun messaging.”
Spencer froze mid-sip. “You’re fucking kidding.”
“Wish I was.”
The glass hit the bar with a splash, and Spencer was already on the move.
“You don’t have to…”
“Oh, I absolutely do.”
She slammed the door open hard enough to make the smart chime glitch. Silver followed, like this was just another Tuesday. Christine lingered just inside, watching as Spencer tore down the first poster with the rage of a woman personally offended by adhesives.
“Why do these assholes use industrial-grade glue?” Spencer muttered, struggling with the edges.
“Because nothing says conviction like a glue stick,” Silver offered, leaning casually against the wall.
Spencer glared. “We’re removing it. Not giving them a fucking art exhibit.”
Christine stepped out, finally catching a glimpse of the sign.
KEEP OUR CITY CLEAN. NO QUEER BEER.
Her stomach turned.
“They’ll never stop,” Spencer said, stuffing the shredded scraps into a trash can.
Silver crossed her arms. “Then we don’t stop either. Glitter paint? Massive pride flag? Maybe something subtle, like a mural of a trans Jesus pouring beer.”
Spencer huffed a laugh, but Christine saw the weight in her shoulders.
The fight was never over. But neither were they.
Not now.
Not ever.