Fumbling with keys, hands trembling so badly it took four tries to get the right one in the lock. The door swung open to darkness and silence.
Her mother's phone sat on the hall table, dark screen mocking her. Living room empty. Kitchen empty. Izzy's heart hammered against her ribs as she raced down the hallway.
Luz's door, cracked open. Chantal's room beside it.
There.
Two forms in Luz's bed. Her mother curled protectively around Chantal, both breathing steadily in the darkness.
Safe. Whole. Alive.
Izzy's knees went liquid. She made it back to the living room couch before they gave out entirely, sinking into the cushions as the adrenaline crash hit like a freight train. Her whole body shook now—hands, shoulders, even her teeth chattering.
Behind her, Cory moved through the space, service weapon drawn but pointed down. He checked windows, tested locks, cleared corners like he'd been born to it. Some distant part of her brain noted his competence, filed it away with all the other surprising things she'd learned about Chief Cory Fraser tonight.
"All clear. Exterior too," he said quietly, holstering his weapon.
"¿Mija? ¿Qué pasa?"
Her mother stood in the hallway, worn flannel robe wrapped tight, salt-and-pepper hair mussed from sleep. But her eyes were sharp, taking in Cory's presence, the weapon he'd just put away, Izzy's shaking hands.
"Mamá." Izzy tried for casual and failed spectacularly.
Luz crossed to her in a couple quick steps, settling beside her on the couch and gathering her close. She smelled like night cream and the faint hint of her evening yerba buena tea. Safe smells. Home smells.
"What happened?" Softer now, but with steel underneath. The voice that had gotten Izzy through skinned knees and broken hearts and deployment notifications.
"There was an incident at the airport..." Izzy started carefully. "My SUV had some... issues."
Her mother's eyes narrowed. "Isabella Marie Reyes. The truth. Now."
The full name treatment. No escaping that.
"Someone put a bomb in my car." The words came out in a rush, like ripping off a bandage. "Cory saved me. We're fine. Everyone's fine. But?—"
"A bomb." Luz's voice had gone dangerously quiet. She turned to Cory. "Explain. Everything."
He walked through it quickly. No sugar-coating. No minimizing. Izzy watched her mother's face cycle through concern to fury to fear and back again.
"My phone—ay, I forgot to charge it. With all the stress about Andrew..." Tears gathered in Luz's eyes. "I didn't mean to worry you, mija."
"It's okay, Mamá." Izzy squeezed her hand. "But you and Chantal need to leave. As soon as possible."
"She's right," Cory added quietly. "The sooner, the better."
"If we go, Isabella comes too."
"I can't."
"This isn't negotiable."
"Mamá, I'm trained for this. You're not."
They slipped into rapid Spanish, arguing in the way only mothers and daughters could—love wrapped in fear wrapped in stubbornness. Luz's hands gesturing sharply, Izzy's voice growing harder with each exchange.
Finally, the killing blow: "I'm the target. If I go with you?—"
Luz's hands stilled. The eternal equation every military mother knew: protect the child or trust the woman you'd raised her to become.
