The Savannah flop house stank of stale smoke and spilled liquor, a sagging shotgun shack off Bay Street where the air hung heavy with rot and regret. Ortiz stood in the doorway, his cheap suit wrinkled from the drive, his glasses fogging in the humid dusk as he scanned the room. Kev sprawled on a stained couch, shirtless and twitching, his eyes sunken in a face too thin to hold them. Darius loomed nearby, arms crossed, his cap pulled low like he could hide the mess he’d let fester.

“Kev,” Ortiz said, voice sharp, stepping over a pile of empty cans. “We’re a week from the hearing. You signed the affidavit—time to talk straight.”

Kev scratched at a scab on his arm, his gaze darting to Darius, then away. “I told you—did it myself. Marcus dropped me, I hit the station. That’s it.”

Ortiz pulled a chair close, the legs scraping the warped floor, and sat, leaning in. “DA says you’re a junkie—unreliable. I need more—why Marcus? What went down?”

Kev’s laugh was a dry rasp, his hands trembling as he lit a cigarette. “Why? ‘Cause he’s soft—always was. Owed me from way back—juvie shit, covered my ass once. Figured he’d take the fall again.”

Darius shifted, his jaw tight, but Ortiz pressed on, voice low. “That night—Darius says you argued. What about?”

Kev exhaled smoke, slow, his eyes glazing over. “Money. Needed cash—dealer was on me. Marcus wouldn’t front it—said he was out of that life. Dropped me at Fulton, drove off. I went in, used his name—knew they’d buy it with his scar, his record.”

Ortiz’s pen scratched fast on his pad, the pieces snapping into place. “And Darius?”

“Saw it,” Kev muttered, flicking ash. “Yelled at me after—said I’d screwed Marcus. Didn’t stop me, though.”

Darius cursed under his breath, stepping forward. “I didn’t know he’d pin it, Ortiz—swear it.”

“Save it,” Ortiz snapped, glaring up at him. “You let him walk into that store—kept quiet. Marcus trusted you.” He turned back to Kev, voice steel. “You’re testifying—clean, in court, or this falls apart. Got it?”

Kev nodded, shaky, and Ortiz stood, pocketing his notes. “Darius, get him sober—now. I’m back in three days.” He left, the screen door slamming, the echo of that night—a favor turned betrayal—ringing louder than ever.

In Atlanta, Lena sat on her balcony, the city humming below, a cup of cold coffee in her hands. It was Saturday, one week to the hearing, and Ortiz’s call an hour ago had cracked something open: Kev’s talking—says Marcus was clean, but Darius knew more. Hearing’s solid. She’d nodded, thanked him, but the Darius knew more stuck, a shard digging into the past she’d tried to bury.

She’d been sixteen when she met Marcus—foster kid with sharp eyes, him a mechanic’s apprentice with a grin that promised trouble and safety in equal measure. Darius was there too, older, louder, always pulling Marcus into shadows she couldn’t follow. She’d ignored it then—loved Marcus past it—but now, with Kev’s story spilling out, those echoes roared back. Darius had watched Kev that night, argued, let it happen, and the trust she’d pinned on him for Marcus’s sake felt like sand slipping through her fingers.

She pulled out Marcus’s latest letter, mailed after Ortiz’s prison visit: Hearing’s close—Kev’s our shot. Love you. Short, steady, his hope a lifeline she’d clung to since her night with Elliot—a night she’d locked away, a mistake she’d vowed to outrun. She’d written back, promised to fight, but Darius’s shadow loomed now, a past she couldn’t unsee. Had he covered for Kev before? Had Marcus known, carried that too?

Her phone buzzed—Jade, checking in. “Ortiz says it’s tight,” Jade said, voice bright. “Kev’s a wreck, but he’s talking. You ready?”

“Yeah,” Lena lied, her grip tightening on the mug. “Ready.”

She hung up, the dusk deepening, and stared at the fairy lights she’d rehung last week—faint, stubborn, like the girl she’d been with Marcus. The past echoed loud—Darius’s failures, her own with Elliot—and the hearing loomed, a week to truth or ruin. She’d fight, still, but the shadows stretched long, and she wondered how much of their love could survive them.

Marcus hunched over the table in the prison rec room, the fluorescent buzz overhead a dull ache as he reread Ortiz’s latest letter, delivered that morning. The paper was creased, Ortiz’s scribble tight: Kev’s testifying—says you dropped him, he did it alone. Darius knew, didn’t stop him. Hearing’s in 7 days—stay sharp. The words hit like a gut punch, Darius’s name a blade twisting deeper than Kev’s betrayal. Marcus’s jaw clenched, his bruised knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the table, the past roaring back louder than the cellblock’s din.

He’d trusted Darius—brother, shield, the one who’d pulled him out of juvie scraps and pushed him toward Lena. That night at the shop, Marcus had argued with Kev, refused the cash, left him on Fulton—clean, he’d thought. Darius had been there, yelling after, but he’d said nothing, let Kev walk into that gas station and pin it on him. The echo of it—Darius’s silence, his dodge—burned, a shadow Marcus hadn’t seen until now.

Ray slid in across from him, his gray braid swinging, a tray of cold oatmeal between them. “You look like hell,” he said, spooning a bite. “What’s the lawyer say?”

“Kev’s singing,” Marcus muttered, shoving the letter across. “Clears me—says he used my name. But Darius—he knew, Ray. Watched it happen, kept his mouth shut.”

Ray scanned the page, his grunt low and hard. “Family, huh? Screws you deepest. What’s your play?”

Marcus rubbed his face, the stubble rough under his palms. “Hearing’s in a week. Kev’s gotta hold—Darius too. Lena’s out there—she’ll push ‘em. But this…” He tapped the letter, voice breaking. “This cuts.”

“Blood don’t mean loyalty,” Ray said, blunt, sliding it back. “You’ve got your lady—focus there. Seven days—keep it together.”

Marcus nodded, the advice a lifeline, but the hurt festered. He’d write Lena tonight, tell her about Darius, lean on her fight. Seven days to freedom, to answers, and he’d hold that, even as the past echoed loud enough to drown him.

In Atlanta, Lena stood outside the shop again, the neon Tate’s Auto sign flickering as night deepened, her breath sharp with purpose. Ortiz’s call had lit a fuse—Darius knew—and she couldn’t wait for his next dodge. She’d found Darius inside, wrench in hand, a half-dead Chevy on the lift, the air thick with oil and smoke. He looked up, saw her face, and froze, the tool clattering to the floor.

“Lena,” he started, but she cut him off, storming closer, her voice a blade.

“You knew,” she said, low and fierce. “Kev told Ortiz—you saw him go in that night, didn’t stop him. Why, Darius? Why’d you let Marcus take this?”

He stepped back, hands up, his cap shadowing his eyes. “I didn’t know he’d pin it—swear it. He was ranting, high—I thought he’d just mouth off, not rob the damn place.”

“You thought?” She laughed, harsh and cold, her fists balling. “You watched him walk away, used Marcus’s name, and said nothing—for months, years. He’s in there because of you.”

Darius’s face crumpled, guilt breaking through his swagger. “I tried to fix it—got Kev now, didn’t I? Dragged him to Savannah, made him sign—”

“Too late,” she snapped, stepping closer, her sneakers scuffing the greasy floor. “Seven years late. You owed him—brother, blood—and you sold him out. What else you hiding?”

“Nothing,” he said, fast, but his eyes darted, a flicker she’d missed too long. “I messed up, Lena—I’m fixing it. He’ll be out, you’ll see.”

She stared, the echo of their past—Darius’s shadows, Marcus’s trust—crashing loud. “You better,” she said, voice steel. “Hearing’s in seven days—Kev shows, or I’ll bury you myself.”

She turned, stalking out, the shop’s hum fading behind her. Her hands shook as she climbed into the Corolla, Ortiz’s words—Darius knew—mixing with Marcus’s letters, his hope, her fight. She’d write him tonight, tell him everything, keep him standing. But as she drove, the past echoed—a brother’s betrayal, her own with Elliot—and she wondered if truth could save them, or if it’d just break them more.

Marcus scratched 7 on his wall, the tally a countdown, and felt the shadows shift—Darius a ghost he couldn’t trust, Lena a light he couldn’t lose. The road back was close, but the echoes lingered, loud and sharp.