"Everything. The weapons, the exits, whatever else you've hidden here." She sets the mug down, stands with more steadiness than last night. "If I'm going to die in the middle of nowhere, I'd like to know what I'm working with."
The gun safe is in the bedroom closet, behind a false panel that looks like water damage. I show her the biometric lock. Her eyes go wide at the contents—two rifles, three handguns, enough ammunition to hold off a small army, and medical supplies that would make a trauma surgeon breathe easier.
"Jesus. Your brother must really hate deer."
"My brother thinks this is his fishing gear." I draw the Glock and check the chamber automatically. "This is mine."
"You lie to your brother?"
"I protect my brother. Different thing."
She touches the rifle stock, tentative. "Would these stop Black Helix?"
"Nothing stops Black Helix." I secure the safe, turn to find her closer than expected. "But they might slow them down enough."
"Enough for what?"
"For help to arrive. Or for you to run."
"Where would I run?"
Not rhetorical. The pragmatic acceptance in it does something uncomfortable to my chest.
"I'll show you."
I move to the corner of the bedroom where a braided rug covers the floor. "If everything goes sideways—if they breach and we can't hold—this is your way out."
I pull back the rug, revealing a trapdoor flush with the floorboards. The handle is recessed, invisible unless you know to look. The hinges are oiled. Silent when I lift it.
She peers into the darkness below. "A cellar?"
"Tunnel. Sixty yards to the treeline, exit behind a boulder formation." I point into the black. "Ladder down, follow the left wall. Don't deviate—there's a collapse on the right fork. Exit hatch is counterweighted, pushes up from underneath."
"You dug a sixty-yard tunnel?"
"Took me three summers." I gesture toward the ladder. "Go on. Trace the route so you know it blind."
She leans over the opening, squinting into the dark. Then pulls back sharply. "Absolutely not."
"Wren—"
"There are spiders down there. I can feel them judging me from here." Arms crossed. "Just show me where it exits."
"You don't know that."
"I'm not crawling through sixty yards of an underground spider nightmare on the off chance someone finds us in the middle of nowhere." A shrug, entirely practical. "If it comes to that, I'll figure it out."
"Figuring it out in the dark while people shoot at you isn't a plan. It's a way to die." I close the hatch but leave the rug aside. "Being over-prepared isn't paranoia. It's why I'm still breathing."
"And I appreciate your continued breathing. Very much." She pats my chest. "But I draw the line at spider tunnels. Show me the exit from outside like a normal person."
I want to argue. Should argue. But there's something in her expression—not dismissal, just limits.
"Fine. We'll hit it on the perimeter walk." I replace the rug flat. "But if I say 'go dark'—you don't hesitate. You drop through that hatch. Spiders or not."
"And you?"
"I'll be right behind you. Or I'll be buying you time." I meet her eyes. "Either way, you get to that treeline."
