I popped the clip. Full. Of course it was. I kept it loaded for a reason. Not hope. Memory. Because someday, I knew I’d need to kill like Camille was still watching.
I holstered it. Loyal walked into the room. He didn’t speak. He opened the second cabinet. Pulled out another case. Laid it on the bed.
A shotgun. Tactical. Beautiful. Royal came next. He picked the crowbar. No hesitation. Barron stood in the doorway. Still. Watching. Like he was trying to decide if this was us breaking or becoming something new.
I turned to him.
“You’re not going to talk me out of this.”
He nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Because I wouldn’t know how.”
I slid the second blade into the sheath at my hip. One more across my back. Three. Always three. One for the throat. One for the ribs.One for the man who thinks I won’t go for the eyes.
Royal set a duffel on the floor. Opened it. Ammo. Flash bangs. Zip cuffs.
“We going in clean or loud?” he asked.
I looked at him. And I smiled.
“Both.”
Loyal snapped the case shut.
“She was screaming,” he said. “In the footage.She called your name.”
I closed my eyes.
I heard it again.
WOLFE.
Not a plea. A command. A summons.
My body locked around it like it had never been unmade. Like my name belonged in her mouth more than oxygen.
I opened my eyes.
“Then we answer.”
Barron crossed the room. Grabbed a blade of his own. It was his father’s. Still sharp. Still bloodstained. He didn’t flinch.
I walked to the table. Set the journal down. Camille’s handwriting stared back at me. Names. Numbers. A time. I tapped the page.
“That’s where she is.”
Royal looked up. “How do you know.”
I stared at the pages. “That’s where I’d take her.”
Loyal nodded. Royal cracked his knuckles. Barron pulled the slide on his pistol. The room went quiet. Not from fear. From reverence. My phone buzzed once.
A new message. No name. Just the initials:MQ.
Forget the warehouse. Tower rooftop. Forty minutes. It’s real.
Mason.
