Unknown number: You should’ve left it alone.
I warned you…you’re mine,
given to me by your father.
My thumb hovers over the screen. “Asher.” Sterling’s voice morphs into something low and dangerous—a growl that vibrates through the cab like a warning.
I nod once. The name tastes like rust and old blood. “It was always him.” I swallow, feeling the shape of it click into place with sickening clarity. “He knew where to look. He knew how to get past Cam’s safeguards just enough to leave a fingerprint…without showing his whole hand.”
“And he knew you’d recognize it,” Sterling says, his voice holding a darker edge.
“Yes,” I say, my jaw tightening. “Because hewantedme to.”
The truck drifts slightly. Sterling corrects it sharply, knuckles whitening around the wheel. “He took Cam and Lila.”
“He didn’t take them,” I say. “He moved them. There’s a difference.” I finally turn the phone off, pressing it into my palm like an anchor. “Asher doesn’t act without an audience. This is a message.”
Sterling exhales slowly, the sound heavy in the truck's confined space. “Then what’s he saying?”
“That he still thinks he owns the narrative,” I answer, voice calm and cold. “That he believes I’ll come running—angry and loud—and make it easy for him.”
“And will you?” he asks.
I meet his gaze. “No.”
His mouth curves into another sharp smile. “Good girl.”
I lean back in the seat. “We don’t expose him yet,” I say. “We let Wade stay in the dark a little longer. Asher wants credit. He wants recognition...”
“So, we starve him of it,” Sterling finishes, the words quiet but sharp, like a blade finally sliding into place.
“Exactly.” I close my eyes, letting the plan solidify in the dark behind my lids. “And when he reaches out again… I answer.”
Sterling nods once, his voice low and final. “On our terms.”
“Yes.” I open my eyes. The road stretches ahead of us, deceptively calm under the rays. “Because now that I know it’s him, I know where he’ll slip.” The truck keeps moving, steady and unremarkable. Behind us, Asher thinks he’s been seen. He has no idea he’s already been caught. We drive for another twenty minutes before Sterling turns down a random gravel road. The truck bumps over ruts and dips, suspension groaning, until we reach a metal gate half-hidden by overgrown brush. He punches a code into his phone, and the gate swings open without a sound.
“Safe house,” he says, answering the question I hadn’t spoken. “No paperwork, no cameras, no connection to Wade, Asher, or anyone who knows the Hawthorne name.”
The house beyond the gate is small, weathered, and utterly forgettable.Perfect. Sterling parks around back, parking the truck beneath the sagging cover of a collapsing carport. When he kills the engine, the silence rushes in—heavy and absolute. My ears ring with it. He reaches into the back seat and grabs a go-bag I hadn’t noticed before. His movements are fluid, practiced, almost instinctual as he scans the perimeter. The kind of efficiency that comes from someone who has lived like this before, always ready to vanish.
I follow him inside. The interior is sparse. Concrete floors, a table, two chairs, and a couch that looks like it was salvaged from a landfill. An ancient rotary landline hangs on the wall. On the table, a laptop is already humming to life. Sterling drops the bag and turns to face me. The afternoon light cuts through dirty windows, painting stripes across his face. He looks tired. Not weak—never that—but like he’s been carrying something just as heavy as I have, for just as long. “We’re off the grid here,” he says. “Twelve hours, maybe twenty-four before we have to move again. If Asher’s as good as you say…”
“He is,” I interrupt, cutting him off cleanly. “Asher’s that good.”
“Then he’ll know we’ve gone dark,” Sterling continues, voice low. “He’ll expect you to panic, to reach out.”
I shake my head. “He expects me to charge in. To trade myself for them.” I walk to the table, pressing my palms flat against the cool surface. “That’s what he wants. The grand gesture. The proof that I still care enough to burn for them.”
“And you don’t?” Sterling asks quietly, a faint thread of nervousness slipping into his tone. Like he’s scared that I might actually sacrifice Lila and Cam to get what I want.
I look up at him, holding his eyes. “I care enough not to play his game. Because if I do, we’re all as good as dead. I won’t let them die because of me…but you have to trust me. I know him. I know his games.”
Something shifts in his expression. Respect, maybe, or recognition. He crosses the room toward me, stopping just inside my personal space. Close enough that I can smell the road dust on him, the faint trace of coffee from this morning. A lifetime ago. “He has Cam,” Sterling says, his voice dropping. “He has Lila. You’re telling me you can stand here and strategize while they’re…”
“I’m telling you,” I say, stepping into him, chin lifting, “that the only way I get them back is if Asher believes I’ve already written them off. If he thinks he took hostages from a woman who gives a damn, he’ll use them against me. If he thinks he took them from a shadow…” I let the sentence hang between us. “Then he has to wonder what I’ll do when I find him.” Sterling’s eyes search mine, hunting for the lie. He won’t find one. “Cam’s tough,” I continue, my voice steady. “Lila’s tougher. And Asher won’t hurt them too badly yet. Hurting them ends the game, and he wants the conversation.”
Sterling studies me for a moment, then nods once. “Then we give him silence. Let him sit until he starts making mistakes.”
