He doesn’t answer. Just nods once, short and sharp, and disappears into his room.
I stand in the breezeway, coffee warming my hands, and think about the strange alliances that form when you’re fighting monsters. About a wounded operator, a lawyer turned fugitive, and a father who kills like a machine but melts when he says his daughter’s name.
Not the team I would have chosen.
But maybe the team I need.
We’re on the road by five, the sky still dark but softening at the edges.
Thorne drives first—he got a solid few hours, deeper sleep than I expected. Cassie’s in the back, catching another hour before her shift. I ride shotgun, watching the highway unspool ahead of us.
The highway stretches west. Indiana farmland gives way to Illinois plains. The hours blur together—fuel stops, coffee, the mechanical rhythm of putting miles between us and the people who want us dead.
We cross into Iowa. No pursuit. No complications.
“I’ll take over at the next exit. You need rest.” Thorne checks the side mirror.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re wounded and running on fumes. Don’t argue.” He glances at Cassie in the back seat, who’s dozing against the window. “She’s held up well. Most civilians would have cracked by now.”
“She’s not most civilians.”
“No. She’s not.” He settles back. “Ghost is going to want her for the legal case. Testimony. Evidence chain. All the things that turn violence into justice.”
“That’s the plan.”
“What’s going on with you two?”
I look at Cassie’s sleeping form. The curve of her neck. The way her hair falls across her face.
“I’m not letting her go,” I say quietly. “Whatever that means. Whatever that costs.”
Thorne is silent for a long moment.
“Good,” he says finally. “That’s the right answer.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Speaking from regret.” His voice is flat, but there’s something underneath it. Pain, maybe. Old wounds. “Lily’s mother left when the diagnosis came. Said she couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t watch her daughter die.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. We’re better off.” He says it like he means it. Maybe he does. “But it taught me something. When things get hard, you find out who stays. Who’s willing to fight for what matters.”
“And you stayed.”
“I stayed.” A pause. “And I’ll keep staying. As long as she needs me.”
I pull off at the next exit. We switch positions—Thorne driving, me in the back. Cassie in the passenger seat, and finally let exhaustion pull me under.
The miles roll past. Iowa becomes Nebraska.
The last thing I hear before sleep takes me is Cassie murmuring something from the passenger seat, and Thorne’s low response.
I can’t make out the words. But the tone is warm. Companionable.
Family forming in real time.
