Naomi sees it.
“You need to go,” she says quietly.
“I don’t want to leave him.”
“You’re not leaving him,” Naomi squeezes Travis's hand. “I’m here. I’m not moving.” She squeezes Travis’s hand. “If anything changes, you’ll know.”
I glance toward the hallway where Elise sits with Krueger at her feet, his leash wrapped tight in her hand, while Ryan sits beside her holding Luna close against his chest, just as Beau comes back in and hands them each a bag of chips without saying a word.
“The kids should stay here,” Naomi adds. “Whatever you’re about to do, they don’t need to see that.”
“Yeah.”
She nods once.
“Go.”
I lean down until my mouth is close to Travis’s ear.
“Don’t check out on me,” I murmur. “You’re not leaving yet.”
His breathing shifts slightly. It might be reflex. I choose to believe it's not.
I press my lips to his temple and straighten before the grief can take over.
Beau meets my eyes and gives a short nod, like he already knows what I’m about to do.
I turn and head out before anyone can say anything else.
The drive back feels off in a way I can’t shake. The road stretches out in front of me, headlights cutting through the dark while my grip tightens on the wheel. My thoughts won’t settle. They keep circling the same place, griefand anger twisting together, building into something that won’t let me sit still.
Every mile drags me closer, but it still feels like it’s taking too long.
By the time I pull up, my jaw is tight enough to hurt.
I step out and head straight for the house. The safe house door shuts behind me. The basement door is already unlocked.
I take the stairs slowly.
The smell hits first. Burnt flesh, thick, foul, sour, layered over with bleach that does nothing to hide it. It clings to the air, settles in the back of my throat, makes every breath feel heavier.
Seth stands near the table with his sleeves rolled up, his hands controlled, his focus locked in.
Grant is strapped down.
What is left of him is barely recognizable.
His fingers are gone. His toes too. The ends are sealed over, cauterized into blackened ruin, the skin around them swollen and split. His chest rises unevenly, every breath dragging through him like it is being pulled out instead of taken in. Sweat and blood coat his skin, and his entire body shakes in small, constant tremors that he can't stop.
He lifts his head when he sees me, and even that small movement costs him.
His mouth pulls into something that tries to be a smile, but it breaks halfway through.
“Well,” he rasps, voice shredded and uneven, catching between breaths. “Looks like the gang’s… all here.”
He coughs as soon as the words leave him, a wet, choking sound that forces his body to jerk against the restraints. Blood spills from the corner of his mouth as he tries to breathe through it.
I step fully into the room. I move around the table slowly, my boots quiet against the concrete, giving him time to watch me, to understand that I am not in a rush.
