Get it together, Ward. Get them home safe.
I moved toward the door and ran through the checklist the way I always did—entry points, exit routes, threat assessment, asset status. The things that had a right answer. Focus.Priorities. Mission parameters. The cold logic that had never once gotten anyone killed through an excess of feeling.
* * *
Lily and Fiona had taken over Fiona’s bedroom.
I paused in the doorway before either one noticed me. Clothes rolled tight. Water bottles lined the bed. A first aid kit splayed open between them—Lily sorting through its contents, Fiona crouched over a backpack with a focus I recognized.
She’d learned that from me.
“Running away?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed.
Fiona looked up, brushing hair from her face with the back of her wrist. “Escape bags. In case we have to leave fast. Lily and I figured we should each have one ready to grab.”
A smile tugged at the corner of my
mouth. “Bug-out bags, Fiona.”
She blinked. “What?”
“They’re called bug-out bags.” I picked up one of the packed rolls, tested its weight, turned it in my hand, and set it back down. “And smart. Really smart. Both of you.”
Fiona shot Lily a look of pure vindication. Lily shook her head with a quiet laugh, her eyes still on the med kit.
“She’s been bossing me around for the last hour,” Lily said. “I see where she gets it from.”
“One thing,” I said, scanning the remaining pile. “Efficient, not sentimental. If it doesn’t keep you alive, it doesn’t go in the bag. No photos, no keepsakes, no—”
“No favorite hoodie?” Fiona’s hand drifted toward a folded gray sweatshirt near her knee.
I gave her a look that needed no translation.
She pulled her hand back. “Fine.”
“Fast and light. Every extra ounce compounds over distance, and distance is what keeps you alive.” I crouched beside Lily and scanned what she’d sorted: ibuprofen, gauze, antiseptic wipes, a small pair of scissors. Solid instincts. Better than most trained adults managed under pressure. “You’ve done this before?”
“Pinterest, mostly,” Lily said, completely straight-faced. “And a few dozen Red Cross preparedness PDFs. I went through a weird phase last year.”
I stared at her for a beat.
“Don’t judge me,” she added. “It’s clearly paying off.”
Fair enough.
“Where’s your mom?”
Something subtle and contained moved across Lily’s face.
“She’s on the roof.”
“The roof?”
Lily pressed her lips together. “She doesn’t think I know, but she goes up there to smoke when she’s stressed.” A beat. “The current situation probably qualifies.”
“Didn’t realize she smoked.”
“She doesn’t. Officially.” Lily’s hands resumed their work, her voice dropping into the easy cadence of someone recounting a well-worn family secret. “Quit six years ago. But she keeps an emergency pack hidden in a coffee tin behind the bread maker. Mom thinks she’s so sneaky. Meanwhile, the whole house smells like Marlboro Lights every time the mortgage payment is due.”
