“Jade,” Casey murmured, her breath warm near my shoulder.
“Yeah?”
Her gaze dropped to my hand.“You’re squeezing the crayon as though you want to stab someone with the broken end.Loosen your grip before you snap the wax and frighten the children.”
I looked.The wax had bent in my grip, close to breaking.I loosened my fingers, embarrassed at how fear turned everything into a weapon.“Sorry.”
“Don’t.”Casey’s voice stayed gentle but firm.“Just breathe.”
We did.In and out.Slow.Like it mattered.
Five more minutes crawled by.
Then the Prospect near the front window stiffened.“Car,” he announced quietly.“Coming up the road.Slow.”
The room went still for a heartbeat.Every adult held breath like the sound might tip off whoever was outside.
Casey stood, voice bright and calm like she was starting a game.“Kids!Who wants to play the quiet walking game?”
A couple of them perked up immediately.“Me!”
“Okay.”She clapped softly.“Walking feet.Whisper voices.Same as practice.Aunt Jade’s leading the back line.”
I swallowed panic and forced a smile into place.“Come on, stars,” I told them, keeping my tone light.“Let’s see who remembers the way to the cozy room.”
Small fingers reached for my hands.I gathered them, guiding the back half as Casey took the front.Marci nodded to a Prospect near the door, and he moved closer, eyes fixed on the driveway.
As we passed the glass, I caught a glimpse outside.A dark sedan rolled up to the gate.Clean.Not one of ours.
“Gate cam?”Marci’s voice came low.
“Got it,” a Prospect at the wall monitor replied.“Plate unknown.One driver.Face blocked by glare.”
“Open the gate?”another asked, tense.
“No,” Marci cut in.“Not until we know who it is.Let them ring.”
We moved past the kitchen into the hallway.The kids whispered and giggled, excited by the “game,” and I envied their innocent perception of danger as nothing more than practice.Casey led them down the stairs into the basement.
Concrete walls surrounded us in the safe room.A heavy steel door sealed the entrance.Shelves stood stocked with water and canned food.Cots remained folded against one wall.Blankets lay piled in a corner.A battery lantern hung from the ceiling, a sad attempt to brighten the underground bunker.
The space reminded me of storm cellars from disaster movies.Stepping across the threshold felt wrong -- an admission the world above might explode into violence any second.
“Okay, ducklings,” Casey chirped.“Climb on the boats.”
We unfolded cots while the children swarmed them, sitting cross-legged according to our rehearsals.Their expressions changed as they settled, solemn awareness replacing playfulness.
“Remember,” I coached softly.“We stay quiet.We listen.We don’t open the door unless Aunt Casey says.”
They nodded.Casey’s gaze met mine over their heads.“You stay here,” she instructed.
“With them?”My voice tightened.
“Yeah.”Casey’s expression sharpened with purpose.“I’m going to see who rang the bell.If something goes wrong, we both know the code.”
I punched the code in.Numbers on the keypad outside the door.Simple.Efficient.The system gave me false security when I considered how enemies beyond our fence would blow past any lock, any barrier, any code.My brain wanted to believe in safety while my gut knew better.
“No.”The word came out before I could swallow it.“If Diaz’s men are out there, I’m not letting you go back up those stairs alone.”
