My knees went watery from the sudden rush of relief.“False alarm,” I managed to say.
“Real drill,” Casey corrected me.“You handled everything well.”
The kids glanced up with wide eyes.
Casey’s daughter whispered, “Were bad guys coming?”Her voice dropped so low the words might have summoned them otherwise.
“Nope.”Casey kept her tone light.“Just a confused man who doesn’t know how calendars work.You all did amazing.I almost didn’t hear you breathing.”
They beamed.The room loosened a notch.
“You can go upstairs now,” Casey told them.“Inside rules still apply.Special rules until the grown-ups say otherwise.”
They scrambled to their feet, chatter already shifting to snacks and cartoons.I leaned against the concrete wall for a second, letting my lungs remember how to work.
“You okay?”Casey’s voice dropped to adult-only.
“My heart just ran a marathon.”
“Get used to it.”She squeezed my shoulder.“You got them down here and kept them calm.That’s harder than shooting paper.”
“It feels harder.”
Casey murmured, “You can’t fix bullet holes in kids,” and her words became heavy metal across my shoulders -- armor I hadn’t learned to carry.
Upstairs, I heard hushed voices in the common room.Bodies moved through space while minds stayed alert.Threats worked this way -- knowledge of danger kept us listening for trouble, even when one false alarm proved innocent.
I checked my phone again.Nothing from Spade.
Time stretched.Fifteen more minutes.Twenty.
I made coffee for Marci because her hands trembled when she tried to pour.I helped Solena reorganize bandages for the third time.I answered the kids’ questions in gentle loops -- when are they coming back, where did they go, are they okay -- without admitting how badly I wanted answers too.
Then my phone buzzed.
Spade:package secured.Coming home.
Air rushed out of me in a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in for an hour.
Casey watched my face.“Good news?”
“They got him,” I managed.“They’re on their way back.”
A murmur rippled through the room as other phones lit up.Shoulders loosened an inch.No one abandoned their positions, not yet.The threat didn’t vanish just because we’d grabbed one man.But hope slid in the door anyway, quiet and stubborn.
Engines rumbled outside almost forty minutes later.Headlights swept across the windows.The gate rolled, then locked again.
Every instinct screamed at me to run to the porch, to throw myself into Kane’s arms just to prove he was still real.I made myself stay near the bar with a hand on the back of a chair.If something went wrong between the fence and the clubhouse, I’d only be a liability.
The door opened.General stepped in first, moving with solid control, showing no obvious injury.Relief hit me hard enough to make my vision swim.
Kane came through the door next.I scanned him for blood, limps, or any new holes.Nothing visible.But something in him seemed different.Tighter.His eyes appeared darker.His jaw remained clenched, refusing to soften even when he saw me.Sweat dampened his hair at the temples.The scent of the woods and smoke clung to his clothes, mixed with a metallic scent which made my stomach flip -- the smell never accompanied polite conversations.
Atilla turned to Marci.“Keep the kids out of sight.They don’t need to see Roth.”
“Already on it.”Marci raised her voice.“Ducklings!Movie marathon in the TV room.Who wants popcorn?”
The kids swarmed her, attention yanked toward snacks like a lifeline.
