The room emptied slowly. Brick and Tonka headed out the back, Pipe drifting after them, Thor at his side as they discussed… something.
Meeting Grady felt like walking into a trap—even if they controlled the location. But they needed answers. And right now, Grady was their only lead.
Kawan followed Jupiter toward the cabins. The grass squished underfoot as they moved beneath a cloudless sky. Sunlight filtered through cottonwoods, the breeze sharp with the promise of rain that hadn’t come yet.
Too many variables. Too many unknowns. He didn't like any of it.
“You’re sprinting.” Kawan had to practically jog to keep up with his buddy.
“I’m worried about Specs.” Jupiter sighed. “She’s looping like a corrupted algorithm. When she’s not focused on the footage, she’s trying to get back on the darknet boards—hoping to find anything that might connect the dots. I locked down access, but she’s smart enough to find a workaround, especially if I’m not around to stop her.”
“While I know she needs to take a breath,” Kawan said. “She might be the only one who recognizes the clue we need to dig out of the haystack.”
“True, but that’s not even the point.”
“You seem to have taken a shine to Specs.”
“I understand her.” Jupiter slowed his pace. “She’s stuck between the tech world that makes sense. That gives her order. That she can somewhat control, and this ridiculous world that we live in, that’s filled with chaos. She managed to bridge bothworlds by being on the fringe. That just blew up—literally. Until she can reconcile that she didn’t do anything wrong. That it wasn’t her or her skills that caused the mission to implode, she’s never going to get out of her own head. I’ve been where she is, and it’s not easy to crawl out of.”
“We’ve all been there.” Kawan stopped just short of Jupiter’s cabin. “Lark thinks acceptance is balance. That naming the loss and pushing forward means she’s handling it.”
“Yeah, but naming and feeling it are two different things. That shit catches you in the end.”
“It sure does,” Kawan said. “I’ve seen her bleed and never blink. But watching her silently fall apart … It’s worse. She thinks softening is weakness. That letting me in—hell, letting anyone in—means surrender.”
Jupiter studied him. “But she’s here, and she hasn’t shut you out.”
“For now.” Kawan exhaled. “But this isn’t over. The mission failed. The AI’s gone. And now, we’re expected to pick up the broken pieces and chase ghosts while the people who betrayed us vanish into the shadows.” He peered inside the wooden structure, and a dim light glowed behind the curtain. Specs hunched over something.
“I'd better get in there,” Jupiter said. “Before she finds herself in a black hole she can’t get out of.”
“Call if you need anything.”
“Same goes for you.” Jupiter slapped him on the back.
Kawan turned and strolled toward his cabin with his heart in his throat. He knew Lark, and he had maybe twenty-four hours to get her to face some of her emotions before they both went back out into battle.
8
THE REFUGE—NEW MEXICO–WEST RAVINE CLEARING
Lark had always struggled with patience. She stuffed her hand in her pocket, stared at the morning sun, and groaned. She was going to have to find someone to get her a stress ball. It was the only way she’d survive the quiet of The Refuge and its surroundings. She’d never been one for the great outdoors. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate being in the mountains. Or at a lake. Or anywhere else. It was that she had one speed, and that didn’t include taking a leisurely hike or a kayaking excursion. Hell, she never craved the ever-elusive adrenaline rush many other operatives chased during downtime.
Waiting for something to happen felt like being strapped to a ticking bomb.
The sun slipped west, casting long, drowsy shadows across the New Mexico mesa. Gold spilled through the canopy of pines and cottonwoods, dappling the clearing with shards of light and warmth. Wind teased the edges of the ravine, whispering through the tall grass and brushing over the rocks like it had all the time in the world.
Lark didn’t.
She stood just beyond the old picnic table Kawan had told her that Brick had repurposed for moments like this—moments requiring distance from the main house, away from curious guests, away from distractions. Tonka paced slow, steady arcs behind her. Pipe leaned against the fence, boots crossed at the ankle, a thermos in his hand. Thor stood near a tree stump with arms folded, half-shadowed, unreadable.
And Kawan… he hadn’t taken his eyes off her once. He was quiet, present—a tether in human form.
She appreciated that about him. Always had. But she also resented it. Especially now. It was as if he were waiting for her to crack open and crumble into a million pieces so he could put her back together again like some stupid nursery rhyme.
The sound of gravel crunching under tires snapped her attention toward the narrow access road.
The SUV stopped twenty yards out.
