Beck and CJ step out, hands visible, moving slowly so we can see they aren’t a threat. “Easy. It’s us.”
I lower the gun but don’t put it away. “Where are they?”
“Inbound. ETA, three minutes.”
He moves to our vehicle and starts transferring supplies from his trunk to ours. Medical kit, bottles of water, what looks like stacks of cash and documents.
“Anthony Thorne came through. There’s a private jet waiting at a regional airfield, ninety miles west. New identities, offshore accounts, everything you need.”
“Anthony Thorne? Jasper’s father?”
“Apparently Jasper contacted him two days ago—told him everything. Anthony didn’t believe it at first, but when the OCK fire hit the news and reports of gunshots started coming through…”
“He made some calls—called in favors. He’s getting you out of the country.”
“Why would he help us?”
“Because his daughter was murdered by the same organization. Because his son is one of the people fighting back. Because—” CJ stops mid-sentence, head cocked. “They’re here.”
Three figures emerge from the darkness between buildings.
Dredyn, Jasper, and between them, supported with arms over their shoulders, Talon.
My heart stops.
They’re covered in blood—dark stains on their clothes, their faces, their hands. In the dim light, I can’t tell whose blood it is, can’t tell who’s injured. Then I see Talon’s left shoulder—the way he’s holding it, the way blood seeps through the tactical vest, dark and wet.
“Oh God.”
I’m out of the car before I realize I’m moving, crossing the distance in seconds.
“Talon!”
He looks up, manages a weak smile despite the pain etched into every line of his face. “Hey, Princess. Miss me?”
“You’re shot?—”
“Just a flesh wound… mostly.” His voice is strained.
CJ’s already moving to help, taking Talon’s weight from Jasper. “Get him in the car; we need to move. Campus security will start expanding their search perimeter any minute.”
Dredyn and Jasper maneuver Talon into the back seat. He hisses in pain when his shoulder jostles against the doorframe. I climb in beside him, hands hovering, not knowing where to touch without causing more damage.
“How bad is it?” I ask, looking at Dredyn.
“Through and through. Missed the major vessels. He’ll live if we get him proper medical care.”
“If? What do you meanif?”
“We can’t go to a hospital. A gunshot wound means police reports—questions we can’t answer.”
“Beck arranged a doctor to meet us at the safe house.”
“The safe house is forty minutes from here. He can hold out that long if we stop the bleeding.”
Jasper’s already using new gauze over the wound. Talon grits his teeth but doesn’t make a sound.
I take his hand. “Did you get them? Did it work?”
