Fuck.
I thumb the answer key. “Yeah?”
The voice is smooth, lazy, and amused. “Well, well, B. You’ve made quite a mess. There’s a price on your head, and your little friend’s too. Top of the boards, first time I’ve seen you beat your brother to something.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. Landon glances at me, then at the phone, his brow furrowed.
“Did you call to gloat, or are you running a side hustle now?” I ask, my own voice dead flat.
“Neither. You know the game. You’re burned. Your only shot is to run west until you find water, then pray you’re better at hiding than at staying in The Silent’s good graces.”
He’s not wrong, but he never is.
I wait for the hook.
“I have a jet waiting,” Brooks says, “Private airstrip, forty minutes. No questions asked. Get on board. I have a property in the Alps. Completely off-grid, as long as you don’t mind the cold and the dog.”
Landon mouths “what?” but I ignore him, keeping my voice calm.
“And in return?”
Brooks laughs, long and low. “Just a favor. Someday.”
“No such thing as someday with you. Spell it out.”
He sobers. “When I ask, you answer. No matter where, no matter what. One favor, no limit. And you get to keep your life and your little toy. Agreed?”
My mouth tastes like copper. But the alternative is worse.
“Send the coordinates,” I say, then end the call before he can crow.
Landon’s staring at me, eyes wild. “You’re taking a deal from Bentley Brooks? He’s fucking psycho. Even I know that! His father is the only person in history who ever managed to pull off the level of treason he did without losing his head for it!”
I shake my head. “That’s the price of power. I don’t like it either, but he’s the only one who doesn’t lose if we stay alive. We go back to childhood. He’s insane, but he’s solid.”
I sigh and head out into the forest, towards where my off-road Jeep is hiding under a specially made camouflage. I pull it off and start the car, throwing the bags in the bag before getting in.
The map lights up, an impossible route through old logging roads and a switchback highway. I watch the woods as we drive, every shadow a threat, every light a promise of violence.
As we pull out onto the main road, I look back at the house. In the rearview, it’s just a shape in the darkness. Gone, like everything else I ever cared about.
But Landon’s next to me, alive, stubborn, scared, and not giving up.
That’s new.
That’s worth running for.
We drive into the black, headlights slicing the trees, the whole world falling away behind us.
I think of Brooks, of the favor he’ll call in, and I don’t let the fear reach my face.
The only way to survive now is to keep moving.
I floor the gas, and we vanish into the night.
We make the airstrip with five minutes to spare, pushing the Jeep until the engine screams. No one follows, not at first, but the sense of being watched clings to my neck like a brand. Brooks' people are waiting: two men in tailored black, hands empty, faces forgettable. The jet is a sleek, low-slung bullet of matte silver, already fueling.
I walk Landon up the steps, keeping the duffel slung over my good arm. Inside, it's all minimalist luxury: white leather, champagne on ice, screens tucked into every surface. We don't sit; we move straight to the rear, to a cubicle set up as an office, shades pulled. I lock the door, drop the bag, and check the clock. We have ten minutes before wheels up.
