Lucas stepped out first—with that same sharp grin I'd grown up ducking punches from. He moved like a blade, all economy and edge, the kind of operator who could slip through shadows and leave bodies behind without breaking stride. His dark hair was longer than regulation, swept back like he'd been running his hands through it, and his eyes scanned the property with a predator's interest.
Then Ethan.
Christ.
Ethan unfolded from the passenger side like a mountain deciding to walk. Closing on seven feet if he was a few more inches, shoulders broad enough to block out the sun, hands that could palm a basketball or crush a throat with equal ease. The scars that raked down his arm—courtesy of a grizzly that had made the fatal mistake of threatening his younger brothers—caught the morning light and turned him into something out of myth.
The Shield, that’s what Dad had called him. Because once Ethan Dane planted himself between you and danger, nothing got through.
My brothers.
Here.
Together.
I couldn't move. Couldn't process it. We didn't do this—didn't converge, didn't gather, didn't show up in the same place at the same time unless someone was dead or dying. Since we'd each gone our separate ways in the military, there had been no family reunions. Just quick meet-ups with one brother at a time in faraway places—a beer in Berlin with Lucas, a meal in Manila with Ethan, always brief, always just the two of us.
Never like this.
Never together.
Lucas's grin widened when he saw my expression. "Surprise, little brother."
Something in my chest cracked open—something I'd kept locked down since I was a kid. I crossed the distance between us in three strides and pulled them both into a hug that would've embarrassed me a week ago.
Lucas grunted, laughing. "Jesus, Gideon. You getting soft on us?"
I didn't answer. Just held on for another heartbeat, breathing them in—gun oil and pine and that particular scent that was justDane, the genetic signature we all carried like a brand.
When I finally let go, Ethan's hand came down on my shoulder, heavy and warm. His eyes—dark brown, nothing like mine or Lucas's—held that steady kindness that had gotten us through childhood when Dad disappeared and the world went sideways.
"Good to see you," he said simply.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked, my voice rougher than I meant it to be. "Both of you?"
Lucas shrugged, still grinning. "We've been here for a bit, actually. It's a long story."
"There are things to say," Ethan added, his voice dropping lower, more serious. "About Dad. About the rest of the family."
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
Dad.
Byron Dane. The man who'd taught us to track, to hunt, to read the weather in the shift of clouds. The man whose laughter could fill a valley and whose disappearance had hollowed me out so completely I'd forgotten what joy felt like. The mythical, larger-than-life figure who'd vanished when I was still young enough to believe heroes didn't just abandon their families.
"Dad?" I repeated, the word feeling strange in my mouth. "You found something?"
Lucas and Ethan exchanged a look—the kind of silent conversation that brothers who'd survived hell together could have without words.
"We're all coming together because of Dad," Lucas said carefully. "All of us."
"I don't understand." My mind was racing, trying to fit pieces together that didn't make sense. "Why? Why now?"
Ethan shifted his weight, and I realized he was uncomfortable. Ethan was never uncomfortable. The man had stared down a grizzly and won. But right now, he looked like he was searching for words that didn't want to come.
"Not only might Dad have been attached to whatever organization is targeting us," he said slowly, "but Dad left a deeper secret. Something none of us could've imagined."
The world tilted slightly under my feet.
