Page 211 of What We Burn

Milo gives me a thumbs-up, which is the most Milo thing possible at a double murder scene. We move back through the kitchen, out the broken door, and into the night.

We climb into the vehicles and shut the doors before the masks come off. Holden starts the engine. Knox takes the passenger seat.

The quiet that settles over me isn’t empty. It’s not the numb, dissociative silence I’ve been living in for months. This is the quiet of alignment. Of doing the thing I was built for, with people who understand why it matters, in a way that honors the discipline of it.

Knox reaches back between the seats. His hand finds my knee. Squeezes. Doesn’t let go.

“You good?”

“Yeah. Freaked me out a little. But that was still easier than Stine.”

“That’s what planning is supposed to do,” Holden says.

“He woke up.”

“And we were ready. Knox contained him. You stopped. We corrected without leaving anything that breaks the scene.” His eyes find mine in the rearview. “Planning doesn’t stop things going sideways, wildcat. It stops one problem from becoming chaos.”

He waits a beat longer.

“How do you feel?”

I don’t even have to think about it.

“Like a Hangman,” I say.

He nods. And I see him smile.

My phone buzzes. Eli, from Milo’s truck behind us.

ELI:

Proud of you, little savage.

I think about the knife in the bag. The blood on the blade. Knox’s hand on my knee.

Me:

Thank you.

I hit send just as the group chat gets a message from Milo.

Milo:

Group session to celebrate? I think we all earned it

I smile to myself and send back a simple thumbs-up that’s met with another emoji-filled text that I’m not even sure how to decipher.

Instead, I put down my phone and lean forward between the seats. “Holden.”

“Mm.”

“Thanks for bringing my knife.”

His eyes find mine in the mirror and hold for a beat.

“Of course, wildcat. Anything for you.”

I sit back. Close my eyes. Let the hum of the road, Knox’s hand, and the memory of what we achieved tonight carry me home.