They swept her away like she was a bride being whisked off before a wedding, their voices overlapping in reassurance and introduction and the kind of rapid-fire conversation that left no room for protest.
Hazel glanced back once, eyes finding mine. I nodded. Tried to look steadier than I felt.
Then she was gone, disappearing into the house with a protective circle of women I'd never met but somehow already trusted because my brothers had chosen them.
And I was left standing in the drive with Lucas and Ethan and the man who'd left us.
Byron stood slightly apart, hands loose at his sides, watching the house like it was a puzzle he was trying to solve. In the light spilling from the windows, he looked older than I remembered. Grayer. More lined. But still undeniablyhim—the set of his jaw, the way he held himself, the quiet authority that had always preceded him into every room.
"Come on," Lucas said quietly. "They're waiting."
We moved toward the entrance. Dad fell into step beside me, and every cell in my body screamed. Part of me wanted to reach out, grab his arm, confirm he was real. Part of me wanted to run. Part of me wanted to collapse right there on the pristine driveway and demand answers I wasn't sure I was ready to hear.
I did none of those things. Just walked. Put one foot in front of the other. Breathed when I remembered to.
The foyer of Dominion Hall was all polished wood and expensive art and the kind of understated wealth that didn't need to announce itself. A man waited there—mid-forties, sharp-eyed, moving with the controlled energy of someone who'd spent time in uniform.
"Elias is in the war room," he said. "Everyone's assembled."
War room. Of course, they had a war room.
We followed him through corridors that smelled like money and furniture polish, past closed doors and open offices where people worked late despite the hour. The building hummed with quiet efficiency.
The war room was at the end of a long hallway—double doors, heavy wood, the kind that looked like they could stop bullets.
They probably could.
The man pushed them open.
The room beyond was exactly what the name promised—a long table, multiple screens on the walls showing maps and data feeds, tactical lighting that was bright enough to work by but dim enough not to be harsh. And men. So many men.
The Charleston Danes filled one side of the table. I recognized Elias immediately, and beside him?—
My breath caught.
Caleb. Jacob.
My brothers. Here. In the flesh.
Caleb saw me first. His face split into a grin that erased years and every mile between Montana and South Carolina. He was up and moving before I could process it, crossing the room in long strides.
"Gideon," he said, and pulled me into a hug that damn near cracked ribs.
I held on. God, I held on. He smelled like salt water and expensive cologne andhomein a way I hadn't known I'd been missing.
"Jesus," I managed. "You got taller."
"You got uglier," he shot back, but his voice was rough.
Jacob appeared on my other side—quieter than Caleb, always had been, but no less present. He gripped my shoulder, then pulled me in. Three of us, tangled together like we were kids again, like we hadn't spent years scattered across the globe doing things we couldn't talk about.
"Missed you, brother," Jacob murmured.
"Yeah," I said, because my throat was too tight for more.
We broke apart. Caleb's eyes were wet. Jacob's jaw was locked like he was holding something back. I probably looked the same.
Then they saw Byron.
