“Ezra,” he said, then pointed at the other. “My little brother, Seth.”
“Ages,” I added.
“Nearly eleven,” Ezra said, chin tilted, and I stared right at him.
“I’m n-n-nine,” Seth said.
Caleb paused for a moment and then buckled up. “Okay, Ezra, Seth, sit back, we’re taking you somewhere safe, and they’ll get you back to where you want to be.”
Seth began to cry, and the two boys had a hurried, heated conversation. Instinct had me flicking the locks on the doors because I got the feeling these were still in fight-or-flight mode and were runners. Running wouldn’t get them help.
“Not home,” Ezra said. “We won’t let you take us home.” He tugged Seth into his side and brandished his water bottle as a weapon.
“I’ll kill you both,”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said under my breath.
Caleb focused back on the kids. I couldn’t read their expressions, but Caleb kind of sank into himself, which had to mean he’d seen something in Seth’s tears and Ezra’s statement. I might be unable to gauge what they were feeling through expression alone, but I’d seen enough in this world to hear fear.
“Of course not,” Caleb said. “We’ll get yourealhelp.”
The van pulled away first, heading toward the safe house. And next to me, I had Caleb. There hadn’t been room in the van. Logically, it made sense. Operationally, it was efficient. Still, it was odd to have someone next to me and kids in the back. I was the killer, the one who deleted evidence, not the rescuer.
It felt… I don’t know… wrong? But I’d done good—found the boys—so I hoped Caleb was happy about that and could ignore the whole burning alive thing we had going on with Ball-Cap.
The glow from the burning house reflected faintly across the windshield, and I knew we needed to leave, so I headed out.
“Thirty freaking seconds,” Caleb said, glancing back once at the boys in the rear seat as he passed them another bottle of water.
“Forty-five, maybe,” I replied.
“Fucks sake,” he muttered. “You stayed with me.” He sounded shocked. “I stayed for the kids, but you don’t care about them.” He stared at me pointedly. I knew what he was asking without him having to say it.
“I do.” I paused because I needed to word this right. “Children aren’t collateral, leverage, or currency. Leaving them behind to burn would have been wrong.”
“You left the van,” I said finally, eyes on the road. I didn’t look at him. “Next time you stay behind cover with any other assets,” I said.
He studied me for a moment. “Asset?” he said quietly.
“You’re valuable,” I said. “You increase success rates. You reduce exposure. That makes you an asset.”
“Fuck off.”
“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” I added, making sure to maintain eye contact so he knew I was feeling what I was saying.
He rolled his eyes at me, leaned back in the seat, but I had the feeling he had a lot more to say. I wasn’t sure I could argue with him or with anyone. Issue orders to keep people alive, yes, but argue and debate rationally? Nope. Wasn’t happening.
“I’m assuming the other mark is dead.”
“Yep.”
“You couldn’t keep at least one of them alive?”
“I tried.”
The boys remained silent behind us, water bottles crinkling softly in their hands.
I put the truck in gear and pulled onto the road, maintaining distance from Doc’s vehicle ahead. Caleb monitoredthe rearview through the side mirror, posture straight, attention divided between the road and the two teenagers.
