Ten minutes.
That’s all we had.
And maybe not even that.
CHAPTER 66
AVA - POINT AND SHOOT
You know what they say about the quiet before the storm.
That uneasy silence that crawls beneath your skin.
The feeling you can’t name but know in your bones isn’t going to end well.
The first warning was almost polite.
Just a soft ping, so faint you could mistake it for a low battery, or one of those cheery reminders to drink water, stretch your legs, take a deep breath.
But then came the second.
Then the third.
And suddenly, Gray’s laptop lit up like an air traffic controller’s screen on a bad day.
He froze mid-step, spine rigid, breath caught, eyes locked on the cascading flood of alerts like he was watching a nightmare unfold in real time.
“Shit… that’s not good.”
The words dropped heavy between us.
“What is it?” My voice came out smaller than I meant it to, my body already rising from the couch, heart lodged somewhere in my throat.
He didn’t answer right away. Just stared, muscles locked, as if hoping that if he didn’t move, the storm might pass us by.
It didn’t.
His fingers flew across the keys. “Perimeter trip sensors. West ridge, then north. Fast-moving, heavy tread. Multiple motion triggers.”
My blood went cold, the kind of cold that seeps into bone. “Deer?”
“No.” His voice was clipped, low, and certain. “Too fast. Too coordinated.”
His jaw tightened, something dangerous flashing in his eyes.
“And…” He inhaled sharply, exhaled harder. “Fuck. I think they’re flanking.”
He was already moving.
Across the room in two strides, yanking throw pillows off the storage ottoman, tossing them aside without looking, revealing the bag he’d brought, the one he’d joked could’ve been yoga mats.
No one was laughing now.
Gray slung the bag open with surgical precision and unzipped it. Inside was a quiet kind of terror: organized compartments holding an arsenal. Pistols, ammo, radio comms, folded knives, flashbangs. Every piece polished, every slot packed with brutal intention.
I blinked at it, at him, at this silent confession; he’d always known this might happen.
“Comms are down,” he muttered, pulling a radio free and slapping in a battery with steady hands. “I can’t reach Harlan. Jack. Kane. No one.”
