“I want the truth,” I say, voice shaking but firm. “All of it. Right now.”
Silence stretches between us. Aidan makes a soft sound, and I bounce him automatically, but my gaze stays locked on Gavin.
He takes a step toward me. Then another. He stops close enough that I can feel the heat from him again, and his voice drops. “Fine,” he says.
One word.
Heavy as a door slamming shut.
He brushes a knuckle down Aidan’s cheek, then looks back at me. “You want the truth?” he murmurs. “You’re going to get it. But you’re not getting it in pieces. You’re getting it with everyone present, because once we say it out loud, we move. We don’t hesitate.”
My pulse pounds.
He reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together like he’s anchoring me. “Put your coat on. We’re going to the lodge.”
A chill runs through me, even in the warmth of the cabin.
“You’re… inviting me to the meeting,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
My heart beats harder. “So it’s bad.”
Gavin’s gaze holds mine, and he doesn’t lie. “It’s dangerous,” he says quietly. “But you’re not alone.”
I nod, swallowing down the fear.
We bundle Aidan up, grab the diaper bag, and step out into the snow.
The compound lights glow ahead, warm and steady. The lodge door is open, and I can see movement inside—shadows and bodies, men who look like guardians instead of strangers now.
And when we step through the doorway, the room goes quiet.
Everyone is there.
Rafe. Rhett. Boyd. Chase. Wyatt. Eli. Thorne. Silas. Harlan.
Harper too, with Poppi in her arms—her expression sober now, not playful.
Like she knows.
Like they all know.
Gavin squeezes my hand once. Then he looks at the room, and then at me, his voice low. “Okay,” he says. “Now I’m going to tell you the truth.”
And my stomach drops as if the floor just vanished beneath my feet.
TWELVE
GAVIN
The meeting room at Haven 7 was built for war.
Not literal war—though we’ve planned plenty of operations in here that felt close enough—but the kind of war that follows you home. The kind that forces you to draw lines in places you wanted to keep peaceful.
Metal table. Maps. Screens. Radios charging in neat rows. A whiteboard with old scuffs that never fully come off, like ghosts of past decisions.
Tonight, every seat is filled.
