Not yet.
I had to be cautious with Beck. He wasn’t like Ethan or Aaron; he wouldn’t bend easily. He would only bend if he were forced. Luckily, I had seen something that he would do just about anything to keep buried. Of that, I had no doubt.
It would make him dangerous.
But useful.
I turned onto the dirt road leading home, dust pluming behind the car.
Ben would be home soon.
Tonight, I’d inventory the supplies. Then I’d listen to another lecture on readiness and weakness and on how the world doesn’t care if you’re tired.
Later—after I survived that—I’d decide how to approach Beck.
It had to be tonight because the hearing was tomorrow.
I’d have to handle him carefully. Make him understand that it was in his best interest to cooperate.
If all went well, I’d have someone in my clutches that would be infinitely useful.
Insert my evil villain laugh.
CHAPTER FOUR
TARYN
The house was too quiet when I got home.
That was how Ben liked it. Silence meant you were more aware of what was going on. Noise meant distractions.
I locked the door behind me and slid the deadbolt home, testing it twice. Habit. The motion had been drilled into me since I was twelve—lock, check, recheck.
The air smelled faintly of gun oil and the lemon cleaner I’d used last night. The windows were uncovered, but the blinds sat angled just right—enough to let light in, not enough to give anyone outside a clean view.
I made my way to the basement door, which was never left unlocked. I spun the mechanical dial without looking—three turns left, two right, one back. The numbers clicked softly under my fingers, so familiar I could have done it in the dark. Ben had made sure of that. Locks were useless if you needed light to open them.
The deadbolt slid free with a muted thunk.
I paused, listening.
Nothing.
Good. I made my way down the stairs.
Inside, everything sat exactly where it should—shelves bolted into studs, crates stacked low so they wouldn’t tip during tremors, and inventory sheets clipped and dated. Ben trusted his systems more than people.
He changed the combination every three months.
More often, if the mood struck him.
I stepped inside and scanned automatically. Shelves ran floor to ceiling, with a metal bracket bolted into the studs. Everything here was built for function.
Water came first. Nothing could live for long without it.
Six-gallon jugs lined the bottom shelf, dated in black marker. Ben rotated them every three months, regardless of whether they were opened. Untreated water went bad faster than people thought. Algae, bacteria, and micro-fractures in cheap plastic were the cause. And that was only what we kept inside. Out back, we had a hand-pump water well, so our water supply would never run out.
On the shelf above that: filtration.
