Page 105 of What We Become

“Um . . . thanks,” I say, glancing past him toward the valley and the life we’ve left scattered through every part of the cabin. The fairy lights Milo hung. The woodpile Knox built. The kitchen Micah took over. Eli’s books and the notebooks Holden has stacked beside Milo’s laptops.

For a month, this borrowed place has given us somewhere to breathe. Now the door back to the world is open.

“When do we need to go?” I ask.

“Tomorrow,” Odin says. “Same protocol as the arrival. I’ll have a vehicle here at dawn.”

He buttons his jacket and adjusts the cuff. Whatever human warmth might exist underneath the charcoal and the silver and the pale eyes, he doesn’t let us see it.

Odin turns toward the door, then pauses beside Holden and lowers his voice.

“The expanded report I requested is overdue.”

Holden’s shoulders settle. “I’m still verifying a few details. You’ll have it at the next strategy meeting.”

“Verifying,” Odin repeats, studying him. “Of course.”

Holden doesn’t look away. “Next meeting.”

Odin inclines his head, but the look he gives Holden makes it clear he hasn’t mistaken the delay for inefficiency. He knows Holden is stalling, and I have no idea why.

“See that I do.” Odin turns back to the rest of us. “Rest well tonight. Enjoy your last evening.”

He leaves. The front door closes, and we all stand there.

Micah is the first to move. He lets out a long, thin sigh and rakes a hand through his hair, then glares at the floor. “Well. I guess the honeymoon’s over.”

Eli rubs the back of his neck, processing. “Does anyone think this is actually done?”

“Absolutely not,” Holden says, but his hands have relaxed. “Mercer-Davis is a man with a vendetta. He won’t run forever.”

“Assholes always have a way of making everything shit,” Milo adds, voice too steady for how his fingers vibrate against the armrest.

I look around the room and see the same thing on every face. Even Knox has a crease between his brows.

“Then we make tonight count,” I say, because if this is our last evening, I’m not spending it bracing for tomorrow. “Whatever that means. Together, separate, quiet, loud. I’m not sitting in a chair waiting for dawn.”

Milo’s fingers still against his arm. “Kitten’s going sentimental on us.”

“I am,” I admit, my throat tightening. “I forgot what it was like to live without looking over my shoulder or scanning every room for danger.” I glance toward the windows and the valley beyond. “Out here, the most we had to worry about was Stephen the deer.”

“Stephen the sick-looking deer,” Milo corrects. “He could be rabid. We just don’t know.”

I snort, the sound breaking some of the tension in the room, and Milo’s grin sharpens with victory. “Rabid deer, land management, tactical tree houses—you’ve had a very full month, Milo.”

“Productive,” he agrees, but his eyes are on me, searching for something underneath the joke.

I find myself moving toward Knox without deciding to, drawn by the same gravity that’s always pulled me to him—the promise of stillness inside all his mass. He unfolds his arms when I reach him, and I step into the space he makes, his hand settling heavy and warm at the base of my spine.

“One night,” I say into the quiet. “That’s what we have. What do we do with it?”

Micah answers first, because Micah always knows what people need before they ask. “We finish what we started upstairs. Properly. With all of us.”

My stomach flips. “All of us?”

“You wanted the cross,” Eli says, voice careful. “We can adapt. Ropes instead of straps. Support instead of suspension. You’ve earned the room.”

“And after?” Holden asks.