No one speaks.
They don’t need to.
Not when the message on my watch still burns behind my eyes like a brand.
LILY HAS ENTERED PANIC ROOM.
That’s not a notification. That’s a fucking siren.
It means my girl is locked inside steel because the world outside it is no longer safe. And that I have to do everything I can to stop it. To stop anyone from hurting her. Just like I vowed to always do.
No matter the consequences to myself.
Conan is at my left, shoulders broad, eyes dead ahead. Finn is behind him, silent in that dangerous way he gets when he’s trying not to feel. Declan is at the front like a general, his posture calm, but his hands flexing like he’s already counting bodies.
Reggie and Rowan trail close, two shadows moving as one, the kind of men who don’t need daylight to find a target.
The tunnel narrows, the ceiling dropping low enough that the air presses in around us like a coffin.
Halfway down, Declan lifts his fist.
We stop instantly. Stillness. The kind where even breathing sounds loud.
I know what’s here: a hidden steel hatch, welded into the wall behind a sheet of old plywood and dirt-stained tarpaulin. It doesn’t look like anything. That’s the point. A cache you don’t find unless someone wants you to.
I step forward, peel it back, and twist the lock.
Metal groans quietly. Inside, the weapons gleam faintly under the dim tunnel light. Black and clean and waiting.
I reach in first. A rifle. Then the next. A shotgun wrapped in oilcloth. Mags stacked and labeled. Silencers. A small case of explosives packed so neatly it looks almost holy. This isn’t the first time we’ve prepared for war. But it’s the first time it’s felt inevitable.
“Take what you need,” I say, voice low.
No one hesitates.
Reggie grabs two pistols and a spare mag belt like it’s muscle memory. Rowan slides a blade into his boot and checks the chamber of a rifle with a calm that borders on psychotic. Finn takes a handgun and a suppressor, his face unreadable.
We’ve all got someone we could lose. We’ve all got to put our lives on the line to ensure they make it out of here.
Declan looks at me. “We going loud?” he asks.
I stare into the cache for half a second longer, my jaw tight. Then I pull out the last thing. A small comms burner.
I flick it on. And I call Enzo.
He answers on the first ring. “Drago, what the fuck went on?” he says, voice already strained.
“Listen carefully,” I say. My voice doesn’t shake. It doesn’t break. “I want Decadence surrounded.”
A pause.
Then Enzo’s breath turns sharp. “Understood.”
“Every entrance. Every exit. Roofline. Underground access. Street perimeter.” I shove a mag into a handgun until it clicks home. “I want eyes on every shadow and a gun pointed at every throat.”
“I think the Preacher is in my house,” I confirm.
We keep moving while I talk.
