“Blackout.” The name came out soft. Deliberate. Like each syllable required effort to shape. “I heard you were dead.”
Xavier’s hand found my wrist. Gripped tight.
The stranger blinked slowly. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. Almost apologetic. “I’m sorry. That’s not...” He stopped. Started over. “Come inside. It’s cold.”
He stepped back, holding the door. We filed past him into warmth that felt almost aggressive after the freezing weather. The space beyond was small but lived-in. Bookshelves crammed with philosophy texts and novels. A working fireplace crackling with real wood. Family photos on the mantel, headmaster with students, awards ceremonies, graduation days.
Someone’s actual home. Not a safehouse. A life.
The smell of coffee drifted from the other room. Real coffee, not the instant shit I’d been surviving on. My stomach growled.
Xavier’s hand found mine. Threaded our fingers together with careful deliberation, like he was testing whether I’d pull away.
I didn’t.
The stranger returned carrying a tray, four mugs, sugar, cream, a plate of what looked like actual food. Sandwiches. Cheese.
He set it on the low table between us with careful precision. Then gestured to a medical kit on the side table I hadn’t noticed before, professional grade, the kind hospitals used. Notthe makeshift collection of bandages and expired antibiotics I’d been working with.
“Supplies.” He gestured to the kit. “Antibiotics, sterile equipment, IV fluids if needed. Everything you’ll require to keep him stable.”
Relief flooded through me so fast it made my knees weak. Proper medical supplies. Finally.
He set everything on the table between us. Poured coffee with steady hands. Pushed a mug toward me without asking if I wanted any.
I wrapped both hands around the warmth. Took a sip. Nearly groaned. Actual good coffee. Strong enough to strip paint but smooth underneath. French press, probably.
“Thank you.” The words came out more genuine than I’d intended.
The man nodded. Settled into the remaining chair. His movements were economical, precise. No wasted energy. When he finally looked at Xavier again, something shifted in his expression. Softened, maybe. Or broke.
He noticed the contact between us. Xavier’s protective positioning, my instinctive step closer despite the stranger’s apparent lack of threat. Something shifted in his expression, approval mixed with something darker. Envy, possibly.
“He forgot to tell you, but this is Hellhound.” Havoc sat beside the man. “Real name doesn’t matter. He’s the one who’s been pulling Oblivion apart from the inside for the last five years. Tobias Dresner’s right hand and most loyal dog.”
Hellhound’s mouth curved slightly. Not quite a smile. “And doing a spectacularly poor job of it, apparently, since they’re still actively trying to kill you.”
My heart sank. Dresner’s man. Here. With us. In this room.
Perfect. Just what we needed. Another killer in a cozy living room with a fireplace.
Hellhound watched my reaction, his gaze unreadable. “Was trusted. Past tense matters.”
His voice stayed soft, deliberate, each word carefully placed like he was defusing a bomb instead of having a conversation.
“Havoc’s being dramatic.” A pause, golden-hazel eyes flicking to the man leaning against the doorframe. “I’m not Dresner’s anymore. Haven’t been for a long time. But I’m very good at pretending.”
Havoc pushed off the wall. “Five years of pretending. Playing loyal soldier while dismantling from inside. It’s exhausting watching him be that patient.”
Something in Hellhound’s expression shifted. “Patience is survival when the alternative is a bullet.”
Xavier’s grip tightened. The question in it: Can we trust this?
I didn’t know. But we were here. And Hellhound was studying Xavier with an intensity that felt less like threat assessment and more like grief.
“Sit.” Hellhound gestured toward the small dining table tucked near the fireplace. Six chairs, worn wood, the kind that had hosted countless family dinners. “You’re both about to collapse.”
Xavier didn’t move immediately. His body coiled tighter, that predator stillness I recognized as threat evaluation.
