I nod, because words don’t want to leave my throat.
He grabs the bag, then points me to a battered recliner in the living room. I sit, and the springs creak under my weight. I try to look around, but the tarps on the windows make it cave-dark inside, except for a thin beam of light leaking through a crack in the ceiling.
He rummages around in the kitchen cupboards, the sound of a can opener working and athunkas something falls out and into a bowl. The microwave beeps as he times the food.
I break first. “Are they coming now?”
He glances at the window. “Probably. They’ll follow the route, find the tire marks. If we’re lucky, they’ll waste a few hours at the first safe house and Noah will hold them up, before they figure out the switch.”
“What if we’re not lucky?” My voice sounds like a stranger’s.
He grins, but it’s not happy. “Then I hope you finally learn to listen to my instructions.”
I don’t know what to say, so I just sit, clutching my own knees and trying not to shake. The microwave beeps, signaling the end of it’s heating cycle, but Briar makes no attempt to move. His gaze is fixed on a grainy security feed on the wall.
A minute later, a chime splits the air—three fast beeps, then silence.
I jump.
Briar stands, gun raised, and moves to the hallway. “Perimeter breach,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Come.”
We move through the kitchen to a door at the far end. He opens it, and I see a set of wooden stairs leading down—basement, unfinished, cold as hell. He gestures for me to go ahead.
I hesitate. The dark at the bottom of the stairs is frightening. I can’t see an inch into it. But I go, one hand pressed to the rough wall. He follows close, gun aimed over my shoulder.
We hit the concrete floor and I nearly slip, but he catches me by the elbow. His hand is hot, alive. I want to lean into it, to let him steady me, but I force myself to stand upright.
He leads me to a wall lined with shelves—canned food, bottled water, what looks like a first-aid kit and a field radio. Next to the shelves, three bookcases, packed with paperbacks in no particular order. He shoves the third one, hard, and it pivots out from the wall, revealing a narrow crawlspace beyond.
“Go,” he says.
I squeeze through, my shoulders scraping both sides, and almost fall into the little room on the other side. It’s just tall enough to stand in, with a bare bulb overhead and a desk built into the far wall. There’s a cot, unmade, and a stack of blankets on top.
“This is where you stay,” he says. “You do not come out unless I come to get you. You do not answer if you hear anyone but me. Understood?”
I want to say yes. Instead, I grab his sleeve, desperate. “You can’t fight them all, Briar. You know that, right?”
He smiles, not like he thinks it’s funny, but like he thinks I’m missing the point. “I don’t need to win. I just need to make sure you’re alive.”
My heart stutters at that. I want to say something—anything—but the words don’t come.
He leans in, close, and for a second I think he’s going to threaten me, or order me to obey again.
Instead, he kisses me.
It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s not even sweet. It’s teeth and tongue and salt and desperation. His hand cradles the back of my head, thumb at the hinge of my jaw, and he pours something into me—fear, hope, maybe just the will to survive.
He pulls back, eyes wild, lips parted.
“If I don’t come back, wait one hour. Then you run. There’s a tunnel in that room that leads out into the forest. Find it, travel it and go. You don’t stop for anything.”
I nod, because there’s nothing else I can do.
He turns, closes the bookcase, and is gone before I can even reach for him.
The little room is silent. I stand there, swaying, not sure what to do. There’s a monitor built into the desk, old and black, but it flickers to life as soon as I touch the power. Four feeds: one from the front door, one from the kitchen, one from the driveway, one from the woods out back.
I watch the screens, my pulse loud in my ears.
