"Sera is the only person who came to help me pack when I left Daniel. She's the one who let me sleep on her couch for three months while I put myself back together. When I got the job at the school, she threw me a party. When I started climbing, she was the only one who didn't tell me I was crazy." My voice is steadier now. "And Rosie—I was in the delivery room when she was born. I'm her godmother. I taught her to tie her shoes."
"I understand they're important to you?—"
"They're not just important. They're everything." I hold his gaze. "I watched a man die at Rosie's birthday party. I've been in a cage for five days. I climbed a cliff and I—" I stop, regroup. "I've done everything you've asked. I've trusted you with my life. Now I need you to trust me with theirs."
Riot's hands tighten on the steering wheel. I can see him wrestling with it—every instinct screaming at him to lock me in the car and handle this himself.
"I didn't tell you how to climb that wall." His voice is quieter now. Almost gentle. "You don't tell me how to do my job."
"I'm not telling you how to do your job. I'm telling you that your job requires intelligence you don't have. You need a friendly face at that door to keep the neighbors quiet and a specific knock to keep Sera from hitting that alarm. We go in together, or we lose our window before it even opens."
The silence stretches. One block. Two.
Then he exhales.
"If anything looks wrong—anything—you get behind me and let me handle it." He holds up a hand before I can respond. "That's not negotiable. You see a threat, you call it out, but I engage. Understood?"
It's not everything I wanted. But it's more than I expected.
"Understood."
"And if I tell you to run, you run. You grab Sera and Rosie, and you get out. You don't look back. No matter what's happening behind you."
"Jon—"
"Promise me."
The intensity in his voice stops me cold. This isn't about tactics anymore. This is about something else—something older, something that hurts.
"I promise," I say quietly.
Mitzy's voice breaks through."Five minutes out. Street's still clear. That van hasn't moved, but I'm not seeing anyone inside."
"We approach from the south," Jon says. "Keep eyes on the van. If it moves, I need to know."
"Copy."
He looks at me. "You ready?"
No. I'm terrified. I'm exhausted. I haven't slept in over twenty-four hours, and every muscle in my body aches from the climb.
But Sera is in that house. Rosie is in that house. And I'm not going to let them die because I was too scared to move.
"Ready."
FIFTEEN
Sera's House
EVIE
The neighborhood looks exactlylike my memories of it.
Quiet streets lined with mature trees. Minivans in driveways. A kid's bicycle abandoned on someone's lawn. Sera's house is halfway down the block—blue shutters, white trim. The rose bushes she planted the year Rosie was born are climbing up the porch railing, filling the air with a heavy, sweet perfume that feels like a physical embrace.
Normal. Safe. The life I wanted for them when I left Sacramento for the mountains five days ago.
Five days. It feels like five years.
