My ankle protested as I stepped down onto the uneven porch boards, the old injury flaring with each shift of weight. The boards creaked under my feet.
It was dangerous to be out here. Exposed. Vulnerable.
I didn't care.
"You can't be out here. It's not safe."
I didn't turn around. I knew Cam's voice by now, low and certain. She must have followed me from the command room.
I laughed, the sound bitter even to my own ears. "If someone's hacking the security system, it's not safe in there either."
When I glanced back, Cam's mouth had curved into the barest hint of a smile. "Touché."
We stood in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us. The van keys dug into my palm.
"Come on," she said finally. "Sit with me."
I hesitated, then followed her to the porch steps. We sat side by side, not touching but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her body. The sinking sun cast long shadows across the gravel driveway that stretched ahead like an escape route I couldn't take.
The gate was maybe a quarter mile down that drive. Could I run for it? My ankle throbbed at the thought, and even if I made it—then what? Barefoot and coatless with the Scorpions hunting me.
The absurdity of it all hit me then. Here I was, being babysat on the porch of my own prison by a woman who'd watched me come apart under her tonguedays ago. The cold seeped through my clothes, biting at my skin, but I still didn't want to go back inside.
Trees surrounded the property on all sides, their bare branches dark against the dying light. I couldn't see the fence line from here, but I knew it was out there. Keeping things out. Keeping me in.
Cam sat solid and warm beside me. Not demanding anything. Not trying to convince me of anything. Just... there. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes—American Spirit, yellow pack. She tapped it against her palm twice, then slid one out. She put it between her lips, and lit it with a silver Zippo.
She took a long drag, then exhaled slowly, the smoke curling up into the darkening sky. Without looking at me, she offered the pack, a wordless gesture that felt more genuine than any explanation the others might have given me.
I shook my head. "I don't smoke."
She nodded once, returning the pack to her pocket before taking another drag. Unlike Kara or Ellie, she didn't try to fill the silence with explanations or reassurances. She just sat there, smoking, comfortable in the quiet, not pushing conversation.
Just present.
I watched her profile against the twilight, the strong line of her jaw, the steady rise and fall of her chest. Of all of them, Cam had always been the hardest to read, but somehow the easiest to be around. She didn't demand anything from me—not cooperation, not forgiveness, not understanding. She simply existed in the same space, solid and real in a way that anchored me despite everything.
I watched Cam's fingers as they held the cigarette. There was something mesmerizing about the way she did it, like she'd been smoking for decades. Her thumb and forefinger pinched the filter with just enough pressure, the ember glowing orange against the darkening sky. Each movement was practiced, natural. Real. Unlike everything else in my life right now.
The cigarette passed from her lips to the night air and back again. Something about the ritual pulled at me. I found myself extending my hand toward her, not saying a word.
Cam's eyes flicked to my outstretched fingers, then down to my other hand where the van keys still glinted in the fading light. Her expression didn't change, but she held out her empty palm.
"Give me the keys and I'll share the cigarette," she said.
I stared at the keys in my hand. Freedom? Maybe. Escape? Possibly. But to where? The Bellantes were still hunting me. I had no phone, no resources, nowhere to run that they wouldn't eventually find me. The keys were just an illusion of control, a fantasy of freedom that would probably get me killed.
I dropped them into her waiting palm.
Cam pocketed them without comment, then passed the cigarette to me. I brought it to my lips and inhaled deeply.
Big mistake. The smoke hit my lungs like fire, and I doubled over coughing, my eyes watering. I expected Cam to laugh, but when I looked up, her face remained impassive. She just waited for my coughing to subside.
"Again," she said. "Slower this time."
I tried again, drawing the smoke in more carefully. It still burned my throat, but I managed not to cough. The taste was acrid and harsh, nothing like the sweet smell had suggested. But there was something grounding about it, something that anchored me to this moment, this porch, this woman beside me.
A light-headed sensation washed over me as the nicotine hit my bloodstream for the first time. The world tilted slightly, then righted itself.
