Page 93 of Property of Scar

The accuracy of it lands somewhere undefended, and I press my palm flat around the mug, letting the heat ground me. She’s right. That’s exactly what it is, not just the calculation of risk, but the specific, unbearable weight of having something worth losing for the first time in a very long time and knowing it.

“Don’t tell me to be careful,” I say.

“I wasn’t going to. You’re the most capable person in this building, and you know it.” She pushes off the counter. “I was going to say… whatever you’re trying not to feel tonight, let yourself feel it. It doesn’t make you weaker. It makes you more certain about what you’re fighting for.” She squeezes my arm once, then heads back toward the main room.

I stand in the kitchen for another thirty seconds with the warmth from the mug moving up through my hands, and I let the thought settle fully, the one I’ve been holding at arm’s length since I walked through that door tonight and saw all of them doing exactly what they are.

I want this family.

Not as a temporary arrangement or as a professional alliance. Not as a situation where I keep one foot out, just in case the floor gives way.

All of it.

The chaos, the weight, and the warmth of it.

All of them.

Back in the main room, Wreck is pointing at the tunnel entry coordinates on the map, his voice dropping further as the final logistics take shape. Maul nods and steps away to make calls, assigning perimeter teams with clipped efficiency, trusting the people on the other end to do exactly what they’re told. Flux has shifted back to his primary form and is pulling the last of the city security feeds offline, his groundwork making us ghosts before we’ve taken a single step.

Across the room, Rhett finally looks up from the weapons crate, his attention catching on Calder near the hallway. The kid is hovering just inside the space, quiet, watchful, taking everything in without drawing attention to it—kitsune instincts.

Rhett’s jaw tightens slightly as he watches him, then his gaze flicks across the room toward Scar just as the call gets made.

“Prospects stay here as clubhouse security.” There’s no room for interpretation.

Rhett exhales through his nose, already shaking his head. “C’mon, man!”

Scar doesn’t even look at him. “It’s not a discussion.”

Rhett pushes to his feet anyway, stepping away from the crate, the movement sharp enough to draw attention. “We should be going with you!”

Scar’s gaze lifts, the kind that doesn’t need to raise volume to shut something down. “You’ll be where I tell you to be.”

Rhett doesn’t back off. “We’re ready, Scar.”

“That’s not the question.” A beat of tension snaps tight between them.

“We can handle it,” Rhett pushes, his voice edged… unwilling to be sidelined.

“You can follow fucking orders,” Scar replies, flat and final. “Start there.”

Rhett’s mouth tightens, like he’s got three more arguments lined up and knows none of them are going to land.

Behind him, Bennett doesn’t even look up from the blade he’s been working, his tone calm, almost bored. “We are prospects.”

Rhett shoots him a look.

Bennett keeps going, dragging the cloth slowly along the edge of the blade. “We follow orders.”

“Since when do you care about fucking orders?” Rhett mutters.

That earns him a faint glance. “Since Raze will kill us if we don’t,” Bennett says evenly.

There’s no humor in it, and Rhett huffs out a breath, scrubbing a hand over his jaw before glancing back toward Scar, like he’s considering pushing it one more time.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he jerks his chin toward Calder. “You heard him. Lock it down.”