I was never happier to see Zach and Kai jogging my way, never more relieved to have more hands, and we made better time after that, pushing hard for the cabin, where Noah and the other two boys were outside with their guns, posted and scanning different directions as if they’d been trained to do it their whole lives.
“You okay?” I called as we reached them, my voice rough, still half out of breath, and Noah nodded quickly, gaze flicking past me to Novak before returning to the tree line.
“We’re good,” he said. I held his gaze a second longer, making sure. Inside, the girls were there, Eden lay on the sofa, the others sitting close around her, watchful.
We pushed into the kitchen, which meant the counter was a barrier between the girls and us, while Zach cleared space with quick, efficient gestures and Kai called the boys in and shut the door.
“On the floor,” Zach said, already pulling supplies from his pack.
I helped Novak forward, easing him onto his front, his breath catching as contact hit the worst of it, his hand gripping mine hard enough to whiten his knuckles.
“It’s okay, Leon,” I murmured, though I wasn’t sure if I was saying it for him or for me.
Zach went straight to work, cutting fabric, checking the bandage he’d thrown on outside, reinforcing it, his hands fast and sure as he reassessed, the room filling with the smell of blood and antiseptic as he layered pressure, checked his breathing again, counted, listened.
“We should leave,” he said, not looking up. “Get the kids to a hospital. Somewhere safe.”
“I know somewhere,” I said, already thinking routes, distance, and time to Reed Way Hostel.
I began to walk then turned back to where Novak lay with his eyes closed, sweat sheening his skin, his breathing still too shallow, too tight, and for a second everything else dropped away.
I went down to my knees beside him.
Pressed a kiss to his nose, quick, grounding, then another to his lips, softer, steadier.
“Back in ten,” I said quietly. “Okay?”
He nodded.
It had to be enough.
I pushed to my feet and forced myself to leave.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Novak
I knew pain.I could work through it, file it, reduce it to something manageable, but people touching me, pressing into it, probing for damage, that was different, that was noise I couldn’t filter, hands where they shouldn’t be, control taken in small, deliberate ways that made it harder to think.
I remembered leaving the cabin in pieces, snapshots that don’t line up cleanly—kids in the back of my truck with Kai driving, the van that was Caleb’s, Zach organizing the rest into the vehicle they’d arrived in, movement and voices and the pressure of time pushing everything forward—and I remember insisting on being with Caleb, because distance from him wasn’t an option, not after the blast, not with the way my body was starting to fail.
I demanded my gun, an extra one just to be safe, and my knife.
No one argued.
I sat in the passenger seat, or I think I did, the details slipping, the world narrowing to the sound of my own breathing and the rhythm of the road under us, each bump sending a lineof pain through my side that I cataloged and then dismissed, because reacting to it wouldn’t change the outcome.
Caleb kept talking.
“Stay with me, Leon,” he said, voice tight but steady. “Count with me. One, two—keep breathing.”
I don’t remember the words, only the way they cut through the static in my head and gave me something to anchor to, something consistent, and I focused on that instead of the rest of it, instead of the way my hands didn’t feel entirely under my control, instead of the way the edges of my vision were starting to darken.
“Hey Leon, stay with me,” he said at some point.
I turned my head just enough to acknowledge it, because if I stopped responding, he would escalate, and that would slow us down.
I wasn’t going to slow him down.
