I exhaled slowly, feeling the tightness in my chest ease slightly. My fingers uncurled from the fists I hadn't realized I'd been making. The women moved around me with seamless coordination, unloading gear and securing the perimeter. They'd done this before. This wasn't improvisation; this was protocol.
For the first time since we'd fled the safehouse, I felt something close to relief. This was real. This was planned. These women knew exactly what they were doing.
I stumbled out of the van, my legs stiff from hours of cramped inactivity. The carrier beside me erupted with mewing as the kittens and their mama protested their confinement. My body ached with exhaustion, every muscle screaming from being in the van for so long.
Ellie appeared at my door. She looked more tired than I had ever seen her. "Come on, let me show you around."
"Is this Alpha?" I asked, recalling the code name she'd mentioned during our hasty evacuation.
She nodded with a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "One of our contingency locations."
We climbed a metal staircase that led to what had once been office space, now converted into living quarters. Ellie guided me through with a gentle hand at my lower back. The first room held a desk with multiple monitors and a wall safe I assumed contained weapons. Next came a small but functional kitchen with a box of canned goods on the counter.
"Bathroom," Ellie said, flicking on a light to reveal an industrial shower stall. "Not luxurious, but the water pressure is decent."
The bedroom contained a queen bed with crisp, clean sheets that looked impossibly inviting. Through the interior windows, I could see down to the warehouse floor where Kara and Cam continued unloading gear.
"Second bedroom has bunks for the team," Ellie explained, pointing across the hall.
When we returned to the queen bedroom, she squeezed my shoulder. The brief pressure of her fingers felt like an anchor in a world that had become terrifyingly unmoored.
"Hang out here. We'll handle the unloading," she said, her voice softening. "Try to rest if you can."
Before I could thank her, she was gone, footsteps receding down the metal stairs.
I stood at the bedroom window, watching them move below like a synchronized dance. Kara hefted rifle cases from the back of the Range Rover while Cam unloaded duffel bags in smooth, continuous motions. Ellie cooed something into the cat carrier before setting it carefully on a workbench. Alex appeared in my line of sight, carrying a metal lockbox that I knew contained the hard drives from the first safehouse.
I pressed my palm against the cool glass. My heart should have been hammering. Lorenzo's Scorpions were hunting us through the night. Professional killers who never failed, never showed mercy. I should have been terrified.
But watching them work together below, I felt my breathing steady. The mad rush of our evacuation replayed in my mind—how they'd moved with such certainty, knowing exactly what to grab and where to go. Alex’s voice on the walkie: “Everything’s wired.” The tower of flame that erupted in our wake, leaving no evidence behind.
"We're going to be okay," I whispered against the glass, surprising myself with how much I believed it. For the first time since this nightmare began, I trusted them completely.
A soft knock pulled me from my trance at the window. I didn't turn around, but I caught Kara's reflection in the glass as she approached. Her fingertips brushed against my cheek, gentle as a whisper.
"You okay?" she asked.
I nodded, not entirely true but close enough.
She stood behind me, her presence solid and warm. "Take a hot shower. Get changed into something comfortable." Her voice was steady, practical. "I'll bring your suitcase up. There are towels in the bathroom, shampoo, conditioner... not your good stuff, but it'll do."
The brief smile she offered tried to make this all feel normal. I appreciated the effort.
"Thank you," I managed.
Her lips pressed against mine, lingering just long enough to make my eyes sting with unexpected tears. Then she was gone.
In the bathroom, I cranked the shower as hot as it would go and stepped under the spray. My skin prickled, then surrendered. I hadn't showered in four days, not since finding that camera in my bedroom. The memory felt surreal now, like it had happened to someone else.
I worked the shampoo into my hair, watching dirty suds swirl down the drain. Four days of sweat and fear washing away. The Gothic safehouse was burned. We were on the run from madmen. Mark was dead.
But we were alive. Together. Safe, at least for now.
I wrapped my hair and body in towels that were surprisingly plush against my raw nerves. Through the door came voices, low and serious, and underneath them, the unmistakable smell of food.
I entered the bedroom, my skin still warm from the shower. Through the doorway to the small kitchen, I spotted Cam stirring a pot on the stove. The rich aroma of beef and herbs filled the air, making my stomach growl.
In the bedroom doorway stood Alex. Her back was to me as she gazed out the window overlooking the warehouse bay below. Her shoulders formed a rigid line, arms wrapped tightly around herself like she was physically holding herself together. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her face when she shifted slightly.
