And that’s all I need.
THIRTY-EIGHT
MARA
Ihaven’t really slept, just dozed in fitful intervals between checking on Talon, listening to Dredyn’s uneven breathing, and watching Jasper stare at the ceiling with haunted eyes.
Talon’s sitting up on the couch, his color better than a few hours ago but still pale.
“How do you feel?” I ask, bringing him water and the antibiotics the doctor left.
“Like I got shot.” He takes the pills and swallows them dry. “But alive. Better than the alternative.”
A small black shape winds between his legs, and my chest tightens.
I crouch down and Ghost immediately trots over, pressing his small body against my shins. His purr is a low rumble. He has no idea we’re about to upend his world again.
“Hey, baby,” I whisper, scratching behind his ears. He leans into it, eyes closing. “You ready for an adventure?”
He meows softly.
“Yeah. Me neither.”
“We should eat something—long flight ahead,” I say, standing.
“Not hungry,” Dredyn responds, but he starts pulling food from the refrigerator anyway. We eat in silence, all of us thinking the same thing: this is the last morning we’ll wake up in America. For a while, at least.
A knock at the door makes us all freeze.
But it’s Beck.
He enters carrying a banker’s box and a cat carrier, and I almost laugh. Of course. Even now, someone’s thinking about the practical details.
“For Ghost,” Beck says, setting the carrier down. “Airport security, even private airports, will want to see proper documentation. I’ve got a health certificate, vaccination records, the works. All backdated so you should be good.”
I look at the carrier, then at Ghost, who’s watching from his perch on the windowsill with slight suspicion.
“You really thought of everything,” I say quietly.
“That’s my job. And so was this.” He pulls out passports, IDs, and birth certificates. All official-looking. All fake.
“Dredyn, you’re now Derek Stone, software consultant for Thorne Industries. Jasper—Jason Thorne, your father’s nephew, also with the company. Talon—Tyler Marsh, family friend of the Thornes, taking a gap year before grad school.”
He looks at me. “Mara, you’re the hardest. The President’s daughter can’t just disappear without questions, so we’re not hiding it. You’re ‘taking time to process trauma from media scrutiny’—a vague mental health sabbatical, staying with family friends—the Thornes—at a private recovery facility. It’s close enough to the truth that it’ll hold up to scrutiny.”
“Recovery facility?” I repeat.
“The island has a small medical staff—technically qualifies. Anthony’s lawyers have already drafted the paperwork. Your father will be notified that you’re safe but need privacy. If he pushes, Anthony has enough dirt on him to make him back off.”
What could Jasper’s father possibly have on the President?
So my father knew. Maybe not the details, but he knew something was wrong and did nothing.
I shouldn’t be surprised, but it still hurts.
“How long do we stay hidden?” Dredyn asks.
“Minimum six months, ideally a year. Long enough for the initial fury to die down, and for the Syndicate to stabilize after losing James. Edmund and the stranger will be focused on consolidating power, not revenge. Probably.”
