Trust.
It had tasted like mercy at the time. Now it tasted like blood.
I opened my eyes. Royal stood across from me now. Quiet. Focused.
“What do we know?”
Loyal spoke.
“The burner that called you last pinged twice. Once near her building. Once outside the old train depot in the southern sector.”
Barron pulled a folded map from his coat pocket. Unrolled it across the table. The ink was already smudged from his hands. Mine added more.
“She’s not in a safehouse,” he said. “Not cartel. Not Selene’s people. This is older. Dirtier. The kind of men who don’t need her alive to make their point.”
I smiled. It was the kind of smile that didn’t reach the surface. The kind that lived in bone. I turned. Walked down the hall.
My room was dark. The way I left it. The closet door hung open. I stepped inside. Pulled the blade from the box under my bed. Matte black. Handle worn to the shape of my grip. I strapped it to my thigh. Then I opened the drawer beside the nightstand.
Cloe’s collar still sat inside. I looked at it for a long time. I didn’t touch it. Not yet.
When I stepped back into the room, Loyal was already loading gear. Barron on the phone. Royal pressing something into a duffel bag. They didn’t ask. They didn’t wait. They just moved. I poured another drink. Held it up.
“They think she’s alone,” I said.
I looked at each of them.
“They think she’s something they can keep.”
I finished the drink. Set the glass down.
“We make sure they never forget who she belongs to.”
No one toasted. No one smiled. Barron nodded once. Loyal zipped the duffel. Royal rolled his sleeves. And I turned to the door.
Because the next breath I took would be on the road. And the next time I spoke her name?—
It would be the last thing they heard before they died.
Cloe
I counted the seconds.
Not because I thought it would help. Not because I believed Wolfe would come bursting through the door like he did in mynightmares—too late to stop the bleeding, always too late. No, I counted because it was the only thing I had.
The ache in my wrists had turned sharp. My ankles throbbed with each shallow breath. My skin felt too tight. My thoughts, too loud.
And still?—
I waited.
Because there was nothing else to do.
Because I had nothing else to give.
The room didn’t get darker, but it felt like it did. Every breath pressed heavier. The air went thick, humid, metallic. I could taste rust in the back of my throat and didn’t know if it was blood or memory.
The door opened. Not a slam. Not the loud, angry kind of violence I could brace for. Just a click. And a shift in the air. Footsteps, slow. Controlled. He wasn’t in a rush. That was the worst part.
