Without alarming Charlotte, I lean forward slowly, elbows resting on knees. Then subtly, I pull my phone out.
Wolf: AMR loc 2. Rt n. W- C.
I swallow hard at the command. He’s using our code. Something is wrong or has already fucking gone down.
I look over to where Ryder had been sitting. He’s already gone.
“Hey,” I say casually, but my eyes hold a plea. Hoping she’ll catch the subtle instruction. “Wanna go on a walk with me?”
At first she looks at me startled. Like she’s processing my audacity to even ask for that. But understanding dawns on her quickly when I voice our privately decided signal.
“The weather’s quite nice, Charlotte,” I say gently, my hand outstretched. “Come on.”
She knows that ‘quite’ isn’t a critical SOS. So thankfully, she nods, a tight smile struggles to stay on her face.
We leave without drawing attention.
The moment we’re outside, the air feels different. Charlotte’s grip on my hand tightens as we move toward the houses lining the compound.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” I murmur back. “Wolf’s message didn’t say.”
Her silence after that is heavy. So is mine.
The five-minute walk feels like an hour. Every step measured. Every shadow watched.
My senses stretch thin, catching everything—the crunch of gravel under our feet, the faint rustle of bushes in the wind, the distant hum of generators.
Anything could be something. Anything could be nothing.
I don’t relax. Not even for a second.
We reach the house. The kind you’d never look at twice. I take the side entrance, leading her down into the basement. The lights hit hard. Bright. Sterile. Blinding for a second. Then my vision adjusts. And my brain short-circuits.
There’s nothing here. No crates. No weapons. No ammo.
Completely fucking empty.
Where the hell is everything?
Wolf stands at the center, behind a lone metal table. Both hands braced against it. A gun sits inches from his thumb.
Ryder’s already here, off to the side. His confusion mirrors mine—tense, unsettled.
My stomach twists with dread. Wolf hasn’t said a word. But there’s something in his eyes, a gleam I don’t recognize. I’ve never seen it before.
“What happened, Prez?” Ryder asks, his voice tight, uncertainty threading through every syllable.
I swallow hard. Whatever that look is—it’s wrong. Deeply, violently wrong.
“Charlotte,” Wolf says calmly. His gaze never leaves me. “Step away from Ruin and walk to me.”
What?
“Wolf—”
“Now.” The word cracks through the room. Sharp and guttural. No room to argue.
