Her voice thickened. “And I need you to remember that right now. Whatever world you’ve stepped into … you’re still ours. And you’re still you.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “I know.”
Bo exhaled, scratching the back of his neck. “So, what now?”
I looked out toward the fields—the rows of flowers, the work waiting, the life that had always been simple enough to hold in my hands.
And then I looked at Micah.
At my family.
At Sunny, who pressed against my knee.
“Now,” I said quietly, “we keep going. We do what we’ve always done.”
Mason arched a brow. “And what’s that?”
I smiled, even as my eyes burned. “We protect each other.”
Micah’s hand found mine again, this time in plain view.
And nobody asked me to let go.
25
MICAH
Dad walked off across the yard, phone already pressed to his ear, his posture tight in a way that said the conversation he was about to have wasn't going to be easy.
I watched him go, every instinct telling me to follow, to listen, to know what the hell we were dealing with.
But I stayed.
Because Joy was still standing beside me, her hand warm in mine, and her family was watching us like we were some kind of test they hadn't studied for.
My brothers dispersed naturally—Ethan to the perimeter, Lucas toward the barn, Gideon scanning the tree line. They didn't need orders. They just moved.
It gave me something to focus on besides the fact that Victoria had come here. To Joy's family. To this place that had nothing to do with any of us except that Joy loved it.
That made it personal in a way I couldn't compartmentalize.
When Dad finally returned, his expression was subdued. Not defeated—Byron Dane didn't do defeated—but worn in a way that aged him years in the span of thirty minutes.
We all gathered near the porch, waiting.
He exhaled slowly. "The good news is, The Vanguard is willing to listen."
"And the bad news?" Jacob asked.
"They won't get involved."
I felt my jaw tighten. "Why not?"
Dad's mouth twisted. "That's The Vanguard's way. They like to watch. They enjoy it when they don't have to lift a finger. Violence is beneath them—or so they claim. But they've shed plenty of blood along the way. They just prefer to keep their hands clean while someone else does the bleeding."
The disgust in his voice was unmistakable.
Before anyone could respond, his phone rang.
