He nods slowly.“Anyone I know?”
“Xavier Blane,” I admit, the name feeling strange on my lips in this context, like worlds colliding that should remain separate.
Recognition flashes in his eyes.“Ethan’s boy?The doctor?”
I nod once.
A complex expression crosses my father’s face: concern, understanding, something like approval.“Good kid.Smart.Comes from good people.”He gives me a slight smile that only my dad can pass off.
“It’s new,” I say, which isn’t really an answer.
My father claps a hand on my shoulder.“I just want you to be happy, the way your mom has made me all these years.”
Greyson’s voice cuts through the parking lot.“Mount up!Ten minutes to position.”
We break apart, returning to our bikes.The brief moment of personal concern evaporates, replaced by the familiar cold focus I need for what’s coming.I check my weapon one last time, adjust my vest, and swing my leg over my bike.
The ride back to the motel is silent, tense with anticipation.We approach from different directions this time, a coordinated effort to cut off escape routes.I follow Greyson to the east entrance, engines cutting simultaneously as we pull up.
The parking lot is eerily quiet.Too quiet.
Instinct prickles at the back of my neck.Something’s wrong.
“Grey,” I say softly, but he’s already noticed, hand raised to signal caution.
We advance slowly, weapons drawn, moving with the practiced coordination of men who’ve faced danger together for years.The motel doors hang open, rooms dark beyond.No movement, no sound except the creak of the old sign swinging in the breeze.
“Spread out,” Greyson orders, voice barely audible.“Check every room.”
I move forward, back against the wall, senses heightened to every shadow and sound.The first room consists of an empty bed, unmade, cigarette butts in an ashtray, and beer cans scattered across a table.Recently vacated.
The second room is the same.And the third.
“Clear,” calls a voice from the other end of the building, echoed by another, and another.
I meet Greyson in the parking lot, where he stands with my father and Kyle, faces grim.
“They’re gone,” I state the obvious, holstering my weapon.
“Not gone,” Greyson corrects, jaw tight.“Moved.And they left us a message.”
He holds up his phone, displaying a text from Demon.Shots fired at Murphy’s again.Multiple Reapers spotted heading toward Main Street.
Cold rage washes through me.They waited for us to leave, then doubled back toward town.Toward civilians.Toward?—
Xavier.
The thought hits me with physical force.Xavier’s hospital is on Main Street.He could be walking to his car, heading to lunch, completely unaware of the danger.
I’m already moving toward my bike when Greyson’s voice stops me.
“Slaughter!We move together.As a unit.”
I turn back, fighting the urge to break formation, to ride ahead alone.“They’re targeting civilians, Grey.We need to move now.”
He nods sharply.“And we will.But smart.Coordinated.”
I take a deep breath, forcing down the panic that threatens to cloud my judgment.He’s right.Rushing in without a plan could make things worse.
