"Good." Jon steps inside, closes the door, and scans the living room. His tactical boots look heavy and foreign on the plush rug, treading past a stray glittery hairbow and a half-finished puzzle of the solar system on the coffee table. He is a predator in aplayroom, his gaze turning Rosie's brightly colored toy bin into a potential obstacle and the hallway into a fatal funnel. "How fast can you be ready to leave?"
"Already am." Sera moves to the hall closet and pulls out two backpacks. One adult-sized, one small with cartoon butterflies. "I packed them three days ago."
Jon goes still.
"You packed go-bags three days ago?"
"Evie disappeared. The FBI told me she was in protective custody, but she didn't call. Didn't text." Sera's jaw is tight. "She always finds a way. So I packed my bags and waited."
Something shifts in Jon's expression. Respect, maybe. Or recognition. "Smart."
"I'm a single mother. Smart is survival." Sera crouches to Rosie's level. "Remember what we talked about, baby? The adventure bag?"
Rosie nods solemnly. "If you say go, I grab the butterfly bag, and I don't ask questions."
"That's my girl." Sera kisses her forehead. "We're going to go on an adventure now. With Aunt Evie and her friend. Okay?"
"Okay." Rosie's eyes move to Jon. She studies him with the intense scrutiny only a child can manage—cataloging the gun on his hip, the set of his shoulders, the scar through his eyebrow. "You're the one keeping Aunt Evie safe?"
"That's right."
"Are you good at it?"
"Very good." He crouches to her level, and the operator mask softens. "I'm going to keep all of you safe. That's my job."
Rosie considers this. Nods once. "Okay. But if you're mean to Aunt Evie, I'll kick you."
The laugh that escapes Jon is surprised and genuine. "Deal."
"Mitzy." Jon touches his earpiece, straightening. "Sitrep."
I can't hear Mitzy's response, but I see his expression tighten. His eyes cut to the front window.
"Copy. Keep tracking them." He turns to us. "We need to move. Now. There's movement two streets north—could be nothing, could be them. I don't want to find out."
Sera grabs the bags. I take Rosie's hand. Jon moves toward the kitchen, weapon drawn.
"Back door. I go first. When I say clear, you follow. Stay tight, move fast."
We're halfway through the kitchen when his earpiece crackles again. Whatever Mitzy says makes his whole body change—a shift from controlled to combat-ready that happens in a heartbeat.
"How many?" His voice is clipped. "ETA on Echo team?”
The way Jon's shoulders drop slightly tells me it's good news.
"Copy. Tell them to push it." He turns to us. "Change of plans. We're staying inside."
"What—"
"Multiple vehicles inbound. They made us." He's already moving, pushing us back toward the living room. "Backup is twelve minutes out. We hold here until they arrive."
"Twelve minutes?" Sera's voice is sharp with fear.
"I've held longer with worse odds." Jon's scanning the room, calculating. "Upstairs. Back bedroom. Away from windows. Go."
"Jon—"
"Go." His eyes meet mine for one second. In that heartbeat, I see everything—the fear he won't let himself feel, the determination that burns underneath, the something else that neither of us has words for yet. "Stay with Rosie. No matter what you hear, you stay with her."
