I meet his gaze and hold it. “Of what happens if I remember everything…” Silence settles between us again, heavy but not uncomfortable. The jammer hums quietly in the background, a low mechanical heartbeat. I roll my shoulders, feeling the last traces of shock burn off, leaving something colder and sharper in its place. “We don’t respond yet,” I say.
Sterling arches a brow, his voice laced with edge. “They took two people we care about.”
“Exactly,” I reply, keeping my voice steady. “They’re waiting for panic. For mistakes. For me to react like a daughter or a friend instead of what I am.”
“And what’s that?” he asks, voice low and rough, like he already knows the answer but wants to hear me say it.
I look straight ahead, eyes narrowed on the road. “A fucking problem.”
He smiles—slow, sharp, and dangerous. The smile that makes my heart skip. “If that isn’t the fucking truth.”
I reach for my phone but don’t turn it on yet. “First move needs to be quiet. We let them think they rattled us.” I glance at him. “Can you make Wade sweat without tipping him off?”
Sterling doesn’t hesitate. “Already thinking about it.”
“Good,” I reply, voice flat and merciless. “Wade still believes he’s the center of this. Let him keep believing it…until we get the ones that matter back.”
“And Cam and Lila?” His voice is steady, but there’s a nervous edge beneath it now, a flicker of worry he can’t quite hide.
“We trust them.” I try to reassure him the only way I know how. “They’re not helpless. And whoever took them just made the mistake of underestimating them.”
Sterling’s grip tightens on the wheel; his knuckles whiten briefly. “That’s a mistake; people don’t survive twice.”
I nod. “We’ll start by laying breadcrumbs. Nothing that points to us. Nothing that looks intentional.” I finally turn my phone on, watching the screen light up. No new messages yet. “They’ll reach out again,” I say quietly. “People like this always do. They want to be seen.”
“And when they do?” Sterling asks.
A smile slowly creeps across my face, cold and completely humorless. “We listen,” I say. “We let them talk. They’ll tell us what they want…and hand us the rope to hang them with. Then we take what’s ours.”
The truck crests a hill, the horizon opening wide and exposed before us. Sterling eases off the gas, pulling onto the shoulder. He turns to face me fully now. “You’re sure about this path?” he asks. No doubt in his voice. Only confirmation.
I meet his eyes without flinching. “I’ve been walking toward it my whole life. I just didn’t know its name.”
He nods. “Then I’m with you.” NotI’ll protect you. NotI’ll handle it. Just…with you. He doesn't want to fight my battles. He wants to stand at my back while I burn the fucking battlefield down.
Iunlock my phone and start typing. Not to the kidnappers. Not to Wade. To a burner account I haven’t touched in years. “Let’s remind them,” I murmur, “why they should have left us alone.” Sterling watches the screen glow between us, the long road stretching back the way we came. And somewhere out there, someone who thought they were in control just felt the ground shift violently beneath their feet.
The message sends. No dramatic ping. No sense of relief. Just gone—released into the dark where it belongs. I lock the phone and slide it back into my pocket. Sterling watches me like he’s trying to memorize the exact moment I crossed a line he can’t see. Not wary. Not afraid. Just aware. “What did you just do?” he asks.
“Lit a wick,” I say. “Only the right kind of monster will recognize the spark.”
He hums low under his breath, “And how long before it burns down to something explosive?”
“That depends,” I reply, voice calm and measured. “On how badly they want to be clever.”
Sterling pulls back onto the road and turns us around. The open fields give way to trees again, the world slowly closing in like it always does when things get real. “You said breadcrumbs,” he says. “That wasn’t a breadcrumb. That was a signal flare.”
I smile faintly, cold and knowing. “Breadcrumbs are for prey. This is for hunters.”
His mouth curves—slow, sharp, and dangerously amused. “Good. I hate being underestimated.”
We drive in silence for a few miles, both of us thinking, calculating. I can feel him running scenarios the same way I am–paths branching,outcomes narrowing. Somewhere ahead, there’s a single moment where we either lose control or take it back entirely. The phone vibrates again before I can power it down. This time I don’t flinch. I unlock the screen and read.
Unknown number: You always did hate being underestimated, Kiera.
Sterling goes still. The kind of stillness that means every instinct he has is now locked onto one point. “They know you,” he says quietly.
“Yes,” I reply. I don’t bother denying or softening it. The truth settles heavy but clean in my chest. “They do.” Another message follows, like they sensed the shift.
