By dawn, the rain had stopped, but the smell of it stayed — that wet asphalt scent that sticks to memory. Alchopya was already at the table, cigarette burning low, staring at an open ledger.

Jimmy Gillmore Jr. didn’t speak at first. He just watched Al’s hands — old hands, trembling not from age but from what they remembered.

The drive north was supposed to start at sunrise, but Al hadn’t packed. He just kept reading the same line in the book like it was scripture.

Jimmy sat down. “You’re afraid to go back.”

Al exhaled smoke through his nose, slow. “Afraid? Son, fear’s what keeps you from dying stupid.”

Jimmy pointed to the ledger. “What’s that?”

Al looked up, eyes red from sleeplessness. “Names and numbers. That’s what Culling runs on. Every life in that town’s a number — blood owed, favors traded, sins counted. Your father and I tried to zero out the math.”

Jimmy leaned in. “You mean you worked with him?”

“I worked against the same thing he did,” Al said. “But your daddy… he went too far. He wanted to erase the whole system. Burn the ledgers, stop the Culling for good.”

Jimmy’s voice dropped. “And you stopped him.”

Al didn’t answer. He just closed the book. The sound of it echoed through the shop like a coffin lid shutting.

“I didn’t stop him,” Al said at last. “I tried to pull him out. But he wouldn’t come.”

Jimmy’s pulse pounded in his ears. “You were there. That night.”

Al nodded once. “Yeah. And I almost didn’t make it out. There was fire, and something… else. The kind of thing that don’t bleed but still kills. You don’t forget that smell. It gets under your skin.”

Jimmy’s stomach turned. “You never told me.”

“Would you have stayed if I had?” Al asked.

Jimmy didn’t answer. He thought of Culling — the funeral home, the way the fog rolled down Main Street like it had a purpose. He thought of his father’s face, half in shadow.

“You said there’s someone waiting for me,” Jimmy said. “Who?”

Al lit another cigarette, shaking his head. “Someone who remembers more than I do. Someone who knows the real numbers. And if she’s still alive… she’s the only one who can tell you what your father traded for that peace he never got.”

Jimmy stood. “Then we go.”

Al stared at him, the fear plain now. “You don’t understand, kid. Going back there — it’s not just going home. It’s going under.”

Jimmy smiled faintly. “You said it yourself, Al. Fear keeps you from dying stupid. I think I’ve already used up my stupid.”

Alchopya smirked despite himself. “Your old man said the same thing once.”

They loaded the car in silence. The sun climbed over the Florida pines, but it didn’t feel warm. The highway ahead shimmered like a wound.

As they pulled out, Al whispered, “If Culling knows we’re coming, we might not get another sunrise.”