Another engine cut off behind me.
I spun, hand already on my weapon, adrenaline flooding hard enough to make the world sharpen to a razor’s edge.
Wyatt stepped out first, moving low and silent. Clay climbed out second, jaw locked, eyes flat with purpose. Hunter emerged, rifle already checked, loaded, safety off.
For a second, I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hissed, though even to my own ears it sounded more like a plea than a reprimand.
Wyatt moved to my side, voice low. “You really thought we were going to let you do this alone?”
Clay pressed an extra flashlight into my palm. His expression wasn’t his usual easy grin; this was the Clay who only came out when things were life and death. “She’s one of ours now. You don’t go in without us.”
Hunter didn’t say a word. Just checked the wind direction, adjusted his stance, and scanned the treeline like he’d been preparing for this his whole life.
My throat tightened—grief, rage, fear, something too tangled to name.
I wanted to tell them to stay out of it. That this was my responsibility. That she wasmyperson to protect. That if anything happened to them?—
But that wasn’t how my family worked. And the truth was brutal and simple: I needed them.
I nodded—one sharp, grateful bow of my head. “Okay,” I said, voice low. “Listen up.”
They leaned in like soldiers hearing orders on a battlefield.
“The car’s tracks lead through this gate. Fresh. Too fresh. He’s inside the structure somewhere. I saw a flashlight earlier—likely the chapel in the center courtyard. That’s our main target.”
Wyatt scanned the chapel. “Entry points?”
“Too damn many,” I muttered. “North wing is collapsing, but still accessible. West side has office windows blown out—we use that as secondary. Hunter, I need your eyes up high. If they move outside, you pick him off.”
Hunter nodded once. Deadly calm.
Clay tightened his gloves. “What about Steph?”
My chest constricted. “We move quietly until we find her. If she’s restrained, if she’s hurt—” My voice cracked, dangerous. “We adapt. But we get her out alive.”
“Copy that,” Wyatt said. “Let’s bring her home.”
We moved through the gate—four shadows slipping into darkness, boots silent on the overgrown path, the broken hotel hulking ahead like something rotten waiting to be split open.
The storm rumbled above us, the remnants of the earlier rage still crackling across the sky.
A bad omen. Or a promise. I didn’t know, and didn’t care.
All I knew was this: I would burn this entire goddamn place to the ground before I let him take her from me.
Then I heard it—a cry, muffled and choked but unmistakably Stephy. The sound turned my blood to ice, then to fire. She was alive. Conscious. Fighting.
But the sound hadn't come from the chapel. It came from the main building. My eyes narrowed, scanning the building for signs of movement. Then I saw it. On the second floor, corner room, a faint light flickered.
I signaled the brothers with quick hand gestures—the same ones Owen had taught us for deer hunting, now repurposed for hunting monsters.Quiet. Close in. Second floor.
We moved like shadows. Clay slipped behind the main door, covering the primary exit. Hunter positioned on the exterior stairwell, rifle trained on the windows. Wyatt took the interior hallway, preventing any escape route.
I positioned myself at the room's entrance, every muscle coiled, every nerve firing.
The sound of Stephy sobbing hit me like a bullet to the chest. But mixed with the sobs were his words, that sick voice I'd heard on her recordings.
