Jethro’s POV

The shop was smaller than I expected. Dark walls, low music, the faint hum of a tattoo gun coming from the back room. The air smelled like ink, metal, and something sharp antiseptic, maybe. I stood there for a moment, trying not to look as nervous as I felt.

The sign outside had said Ink Sanctum. It sounded dramatic, but inside it was quiet, almost too quiet. I rubbed the back of my neck, fingers brushing the small scar there. My palms were damp.

A voice came from behind the counter. “Are you waiting for someone, or just admiring the smell of bleach?”

I turned. The man standing...