“Probably.Super reassuring,” Talon says.
“Best I can do.” Beck pulls out a laptop, opening it to show us a map. “The island. Southeast Asia, international waters, technically owned by a shell corporation that’s twelve layers removed from Anthony Thorne.”
The island looks small on the map. Maybe five miles across.
“Internet?”Jasper signs.
“Satellite connection—encrypted. I’ll be monitoring it remotely, but you’ll have access to secure communication channels. News, email, research—anything you need. Just no social media. No public-facing anything.”
He closes the laptop, then pulls out a thick envelope. “Cash. Fifty thousand in various currencies, and there’s more available through offshore accounts I’ve set up.”
Beck pulls out a burner phone. “This has secure contacts. Me, Anthony, and a few others who are coordinating the next phase.”
“Next phase?” Talon asks.
“Edmund Mercer and the stranger are still alive, but you’re done. You struck your blow, you’re getting out. Others will pick up where you left off.”
Beck checks his watch. “Car’s outside. He’ll take you to the airfield. Jet leaves at nine a.m. sharp. Wheels up, and you’re gone.”
He pauses at the door. “For what it’s worth, what you did last night? It mattered. James Steele’s death is going to send shockwaves through the organization. You weakened them, maybe fatally. That counts for something.”
“Does it? Feels like we just made them angrier.” Dredyn’s voice is hollow.
“Maybe. But you also showed them they’re not invincible. That’s worth everything.”
And with that, Beck leaves.
Getting Ghost into the carrier is harder than I expected. He squirms and digs his claws into the fabric of my shirt like he knows something’s wrong.
“I know, baby. I know,” I murmur, gently prying him loose. “But you have to trust me. We’re going somewhere safe. All of us—together.”
He meows, but finally settles into the carrier with a treat Jasper gives him.
“He’ll forgive you,”Jasper signs.
“Will he?”
“Cats always do. As long as you keep feeding them.”
I almost smile.
“We should go,” Dredyn says.
The drive to the airfield is quiet. Twenty minutes through back roads, avoiding main highways.
Ghost meows occasionally from his carrier on my lap, and I stroke a finger through the carrier’s mesh. Ghost presses his nose against it, purring despite his circumstances.
What’s yours doesn’t end up in a cage.
I remember the night Dredyn said that. Remember the way he looked at me, like he saw straight through every wall I’d built. Like he understood that giving up that kitten had been one more loss in a lifetime of losing things.
And he’d fixed it by going to that shelter, filling out paperwork, and bringing Ghost home.
Home.
The word sits strange in my mind now. Because home isn’t a place anymore, it’s three men who killed for me. Who are giving up everything for me. Who are sitting in this car right now, driving toward exile, and none of them are complaining.
When we pull up to the private airfield, I see the jet immediately—sleek, white, with a Thorne Industries logo on the tail. And standing near it: a figure I’d recognize anywhere.
