Chapter Ten
No More Edges
Savage
After blood, there’s always quiet.Not peace.Not calm.Just the absence of noise where something broke.
The compound settles into that kind of stillness after Ghost is stabilized.No one says relief out loud.Men don’t celebrate survival when it came that close to loss.They move slower, more deliberate, like the world might fracture again if they step wrong.
I don’t send Raven away and that decision is deliberate.
She sits at the table when I call the meeting, chair pulled back just enough that no one can pretend she’s incidental.She doesn’t posture.Doesn’t take notes.Doesn’t act like she belongs by permission.
She belongs because she stayed when blood hit the dirt.My men clock it, Crimson especially.
I stand at the head of the table, palms flat again the solid wood, eyes scanning the room.Saint at my right.Steel at my left.Fury pacing behind us like a caged animal.
“This ends now,” I say.No preamble.No easing in.
Havok switches on screens where the surveillance footage is cued up.“Drive-by vehicle was a black Charger.Stolen plates.Ditch point confirmed two blocks south of Fremont.”
“Pattern?”Saint asks.
Havok nods.“Yes.Same crew that probed us three weeks ago.They rotate drivers and keep shooters insulated.”
“Must be a fucking cartel subcontractor,” Steel adds.“Not the big names but hired hitters that can’t be tied back to them directly.”
I glance at Raven.She’s listening, eyes sharp, and posture still.Not flinching.
“Then we don’t answer the hitters,” I say.“We answer the handlers.”
Saint studies me.“That escalates this quickly.”
“Yes,” I reply.“But it clarifies where we stand.We won’t tolerate this bullshit any longer.”The room tightens in anticipation.
I turn slightly so everyone can see Raven without me gesturing to her.“She’s staying.”
No debate.No invitation.Crimson’s jaw flexes.
