Seth’s grip tightens on his gun.
“There were three outside.”
“That makes six,” I answer. “There were six of them.”
His eyes flick over me again. “Are you hit?”
“I’m fine.”
His gaze shifts toward the kids, and his face tightens in a way that makes my stomach knot.
I look at Elise and Ryan. They still crouch near the counter, pale and shaking.
“You wanted to leave,” I gesture towards the bodies. “This is what followed you.”
Ryan starts crying softly.
Elise looks at me differently now. The change is subtle but real. She no longer looks at me like I kidnapped her. She looks at me like she understands what almost happened and understands who would have paid for it.
“Stay behind me,” I tell them. “We’re leaving. Now.”
They don't argue.
Seth and I reach for our phones at the same time.
I unlock mine first. Nothing looks out of place. No unfamiliar apps appear. No strange notifications pop up.
Seth checks his next. His jaw tightens as he scrolls quickly through the screen before shaking his head.
“They weren’t tracking our phones. Which means it was theirs.”
I look at the kids.
Their phones.
“They tracked you through these,” Seth says, holding one up briefly before dropping it on the floor.
He brings his boot down on it hard. The screen explodes under the pressure.
I grab the other one and slam it beneath my heel. Glass shatters and the phone bends under the weight until the screen cracks open and the battery shifts loose.
“If they were tracking the signal,” I say, grinding my heel down again, “these would have led them straight to us.”
Elise watches the broken pieces scatter across the floor. Ryan wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.
We move to the bodies, and I hate how practiced this feels. I collect the phones from the men inside the store. Blood smears across one screen as I wipe it clean Seth brings in the ones from outside and drops them onto the counter beside the dead clerk.
Six phones sit there. One of them vibrates in my hand. Incoming FaceTime call. The name on the screen makes my pulse spike hard enough to hurt.
Grant.
I look up at Seth. Seth grabs it before I can react. He doesn’t hesitate. He just answers it.
Grant’s face fills the screen, sitting like a smug bastard in some wood-paneled room, flanked by two other Collective members. One of them is smirking. The other is sipping a drink like this is a normal conference call.
Seth keeps the camera low, pointed at the blood-soaked tile and the dead men cooling around it.
“Nice try,” Seth says coldly.
