The safe house had gone dark hours ago—Law crashed on the couch again, Memphis snoring somewhere down the hall, Phoenix doing rounds outside.
For him, the day had dragged—waiting on Savage’s call, the Marshals to show, cleaning weapons, pretending things were normal.
Now the air was still.
The silence held weight—the kind that pressed old memories up from the grave.
He still saw their faces sometimes—in the dark, behind his eyes; flashes of who they’d been as boys before the rot set in, before everything had gone to hell.
And being here beside Genesis brought those memories closer than he wanted. His eyes burned, but sleep stayed distant.
Screw this.
He rubbed his hands over his face and pushed up off the bed. Sleep wasn’t happening. He told himself he was hungry, but the truth was he just couldn’t stand the silence.
Fully dressed, Titus moved down the hall—a blade sheathed at his thigh, the weight of his Ruger steady in his palm. Steps silent—the kind of quiet you learned doing the jobs no one else would touch.
He set the weapon on the counter and pulled open the fridge, white glare catching the glint of metal.
Second night in a row he’d ended up here, just before midnight. Guess that made it a habit.
He tore into the last piece of leftover steak, chewed slowly, staring at the half-empty shelves like they might offer answers. His mind was clear now, but the silence pressed in—thick, weighted, familiar.
“Could’ve sworn I ordered lights out two hours ago.”
The voice came from the doorway.
Viper.
Titus slanted a glance, catching the shape of him in the doorway—arms crossed, face half in shadow. Combat boots, yet no sound—just there, watching.
“Guess I missed the memo.”
“Figures,” Viper growled.
He knew he should walk away, but part of him wanted the fight—wanted to goad Viper. Wanted to feel something besides empty.
The faint rasp of fabric followed as Viper shifted his weight. “You planning to eat the whole fridge or just stand there glaring at it?”
Titus grabbed the milk, took a long drink straight from the carton, then finally looked over again. “You always this chatty late at night?”
“Only when I’m babysitting insomniacs who raid rations.”
“Must be your lucky night, then.”
Viper’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Oh, I don’t believe in luck.”
“Right,” Titus said, holding the carton. “You make your own, then?”
Silence stretched—two men standing in the cold wash of light, neither willing to blink first.
“Yes.”
“You may be in charge of your men, Colonel, but don’t forget, I’m older than you.” Titus smirked, letting his gaze drag up and down Viper before taking another swallow from the carton. Right on cue, the man bristled—Titus fucking loved getting under his skin.
“So what?” Viper snorted. “You gonna tell me you were in preschool when I was in nappies?”
Titus sputtered milk, the bark of laughter that escaped couldn’t be helped.
