“Merric…”
“Don’t.”
“I haven’t said anything yet.”
“You’re about to say something I’m not ready to hear.”
He rolls the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other. Considering. “Fine. I’ll say something else. You bypassed the I-84 junction an hour ago.”
I don’t respond.
“I-84 goes east. Toward home. Toward the stronghold. You went south.”
“I know where south goes, Rook.”
“So do I. South goes to Ravenclaw.”
I fill the tank. The pump clicks. I don’t look at him.
“You’re not taking the kid to Frostbourne first,” Rook says. Not a question. “You’re taking him straight home. To Ravenclaw territory. Into the jaws of every political shitstorm we’ve spent ten years avoiding.”
“That about covers it.”
“And the rest of us get a vote in this?”
Now I look at him. “Since when does my pack vote on where I drive?”
“Since where you drive might get us all in shit.” He holds my eye. Doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. That’s why he’s my second. “I’m not arguing, Merric. I’m asking you to trust me with the reason.”
I pull the nozzle free. Cap the tank. Take my time, because what I’m about to say can’t be unsaid.
“She told him to find me. Brenna. After everything I did to her, she told her son that if things went sideways, he should come to me. That I’d protect him when nobody else would.”
Rook waits.
“She’s dead because nobody stood for her people. Because I was too much of a coward to tell the elders to get fucked. I’m not making that choice again. Not with her son sitting in my goddamn truck.”
Rook’s jaw loosens. Just that; one small release of tension he’d been holding without showing it. He’d already worked out most of this. What I’m watching now is acceptance. The deliberate kind that means he’s in.
“The others will want to know.”
“Tell them. Tell them all of it. And tell them that anyone who wants to head to Frostbourne instead, I understand. No hard feelings. No consequences.”
Rook gives me a look that says I’m an idiot. “I’ll tell them. And then I’ll fill up my tank, because nobody’s splitting off and you damn well know it.”
He walks away. I watch him intercept Dane at the edge of the lot. A muted conversation. Dane’s head turns toward my truck, where Cameron’s empty seat holds the impression of a boy who weighs about forty pounds less than he should. Then Dane nods. Short. Final.
Briar comes back with coffee. She hands me a cup, glances at Rook and Dane talking, reads the situation in about two seconds flat.
“Ravenclaw?” she asks.
“Ravenclaw.”
She takes a sip of her own coffee. “Good. I was going to be annoyed if we drove eight hours to our stronghold just to turn around and drive eight more.”
Typical Briar. Practical to the bone.
Inside the diner, through the smudged window, I can see Sienna sitting across from Cameron in a booth. She’s talking. He’s listening. At some point while I wasn’t watching, she got him a plate of fries. He’s eating them with the same careful precision he eats everything, but faster than before. Less measured.
