Talon nods, but he doesn’t fully believe it yet. He pulls his wrist back slowly, careful not to be abrupt, and drags both hands through his hair. “I’m gonna grab a glass of water.” It’s an excuse, but none of us call him on it. He heads toward the kitchen, shoulders tight, breathing shaky.
Penelope watches him go, her face pinched with worry she’s trying hard not to show. “He looks like he’s unraveling.”
“He is,” I say. “He has every right to. But he’ll hold on for Minxy. That kid’s the only thing stronger than his panic.”
She nods, chewing on her bottom lip. “We all have someone we break for.”
Gideon stands, stretching his spine until it pops, then shuts the laptop gently, like he’s sealing bad news inside it. “We’ve got the plan. We’ve got the window. We’ve got three days to prepare.”
Talon returns with a glass of water, eyes slightly clearer. “What now?”
“Now,” I say, “we rest. We prepare. And when we walk into that clinic, we don’t flinch.”
He nods. “Okay.”
Penelope pushes her hair behind her ear, fingers trembling just barely. “Three days.”
“Three days,” I echo. “We make each of them count. Until then, we should eat.”
“Seconded,” Gideon says, folding his arms. “This place is running on caffeine and spite. One of those isn’t sustainable.”
Talon wipes his face with the heel of his hand. “I’m not hungry.”
“You don’t have to be,” I tell him, reaching for my phone. “You just have to eat something. Shock does weird shit to your body.”
He gives a humorless huff. “This isn’t shock.”
“Sure,” I say gently. “And I’m the Easter Bunny.”
His mouth twitches.
I scroll through the food apps, thumb hovering over menus. “Pizza? Thai? Something easy?”
Talon shrugs, defeated. “Whatever.”
“Thai it is,” I mutter, adding four entrées because I know Gideon will pretend he doesn’t want anything until he steals half my plate.
Talon leans back against the couch, tilting his head up like gravity just hit him all at once. “Three days,” he whispers to the ceiling. “Feels like a lifetime.”
“Or nothing,” I say. “Both at the same time.”
He nods, slow and miserable. “She’s just a kid. She didn’t deserve any of this.”
“No kid does.”
He swallows hard and presses the heel of his palm against his forehead. “I hate that Abi has her hands on her. I hate that Penelope got pulled into this. I hate that I even need your help.”
“You didn’t need help,” I correct. “You needed a team. There’s a difference.”
He breathes out, shaky. “Feels like I’m drowning.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “But you’ve got hands pulling you up now. You’re not alone.”
“You ordered?” Gideon asks.
“Thai.”
“Good,” he says. “If we’re going to plan a borderline illegal extraction, we’re doing it with spring rolls.”
