Ten minutes later, the game is absolute chaos. Nash is surprisingly good at drawing cows. East keeps guessing “threesome” no matter what’s on the board. Kyle is red-faced and trying not to laugh as Sloane acts out childbirth in charades.
“I’ve never been more disturbed and impressed,” Knox says as Sloane pretends to scream-push while Ruby acts as the midwife.
Frankie casually sketches what might be a demon eating a croissant, and the girls cheer when Darla guesses it instantly.
Then Maggie steps up to the board, grabs a marker, and starts drawing with slow, deliberate strokes. For a moment, everyone leans forward trying to figure it out.
“Is that… a banana?” Kyle hazards.
“No, wait, it’s a wrench,” East offers.
Frankie squints. “A very excited wrench?”
Then Maggie adds two very distinct shapes and everyone goes dead silent.
“Is that—” Ruby starts.
“Boobs,” Malachi says flatly.
“With a smiley face?” Nash blinks.
“It’s clearly a pair of joyful tits and a very lucky hand,” Maggie announces proudly.
The room erupts. Laughter crashes through the walls in a wave.
“Maggie!” Knox chokes out, half laughing, half shocked.
“What? Life doesn’t stop when you hit thirty. Or fifty,” she says with a wink, sauntering back to the couch, the picture of someone who just dropped the mic.
Malachi’s actually blinking in disbelief. “I’m both horrified and deeply impressed.”
Ruby cackles. “Maggie’s on our team. We win by default.”
Malachi watches me from his spot on the couch with that steady, smoldering look. But when I nail exploding chicken in under five seconds, he actually claps. I grin. He grins back.
Something soft slips into place. Not loud. Just present. A thread winding tighter. This might not fix anything. The world’s still burning. But in this moment—laughing, yelling, drawing wildly inappropriate interpretations of farm animals—it feels like we’ve carved out something good. And I’ll hold on to that with everything I’ve got. This strange, wild, loyal little family might actually survive the storm.
The laughter’s still hanging in the air when the mood shifts. It’s not gradual or subtle. The change hits all at once, stripping the oxygen straight from the room.
Malachi’s phone buzzes on the table beside him. Once, sharp and insistent. He glances down, still smiling faintly, but that smile dies the second he sees the name on the screen. James.
His whole body tenses. The kind of stillness that comes right before a storm. The room notices. Everyone quiets.
He answers. “Yeah?” Silence. His jaw locks. His eyes sharpen. “We’re on our way,” he says tightly and hangs up.
Everyone’s on their feet before he even speaks.
“Donovan’s car is outside the Holloway building,” Malachi says, voice low and hard. “James said he’s not alone this time. He needs us. Now.”
Everything inside me goes cold. The laughter drains from Ruby’s face. Darla’s expression tightens. Sloane stands, braced for impact. Maggie moves to grab her bag, already pulling her phone from her pocket.
Malachi turns to the girls, his voice calm but threaded with steel. “No one leaves this building. You’re on lockdown until we say otherwise.”
“Lockdown?” Ruby echoes, blinking.
“Not a drill, Rubes.” His tone leaves no room for argument.
He crosses the room and pulls me in by the waist, pressing his forehead to mine. His voice drops to a whisper. “Stay here. Stay safe. You hear me?”
