That actually helps.
I move to the desk and pick up the spare radio Adrian mentioned. Dead, of course. I flip the switch anyway, adjust the channel, try again.
Static.
“Come on,” I whisper.
Nothing.
I set it down harder than I mean to.
Erica flinches.
I immediately regret it. “Sorry.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t be.”
Emma starts fussing then, a soft, unhappy whine as Nico moves back to Erica’s side. He wraps his arm around both of them, murmuring into Erica’s hair.
The room is too small.
Too many people. Too much fear. Too much breathing. Too much knowledge of what might be happening above us.
And Adrian is out there.
Alone.
No. Not alone. His people are out there.
Some alive. Some hurt. Some may be dead.
My throat tightens.
I cannot think about that.
If I think about that, I will see Andrew at the front drive, the woman firing near the rear patio, the body by the gate, the bodies near the roses.
I will see Adrian walking into the dark.
I will scream.
So I do not think about it.
I pick up my phone and try again.
No service.
I try an emergency call.
Nothing.
Nick is doing the same. Lucia watches him with a steady, brittle calm that I recognize because it is the same expression I have been wearing for years whenever I refuse to fall apart until I am alone.
Vito comes to stand near the door, weapon held low but ready. Nico takes the other side, positioned so that anyone forcing entry would have to face both of them.
They look like brothers there.
Not in the ordinary way, not in matching features or shared history, though there is plenty of both.
