Page 113 of The Final Cut

“He’s pulling into the service road now.”

Reva tightens her hold on the cat. “Ever⁠—”

“Now.”

The command snaps out harder than I intend, and her face changes, not with hurt. With focus. Training is beginning to settle somewhere beneath the panic. She stands low, grabs Delia’s sleeve instead of her wrist, and pulls her toward the hallway without crossing in front of the glass. Good girl.

Delia doesn’t argue.

I move back into the office, seal the open line to Nash, and send him the alert with one key: DRONE CONTACT. CABIN COMPROMISE POSSIBLE. STAY WITH CAL.

His response flashes almost instantly.

:Status.

I type with one hand while pulling the dock feed wider.

:Test. Reva/Delia inside. Deacon/Shiloh on-site. Holding.

Nash answers: Keep them alive.

That has always been the job.

The third drone comes in low over the water.

Then a fourth from the tree line.

Not a scout, then. A probe with teeth.

I open the weapons cabinet under the desk and take the rifle already loaded with frangible rounds, then grab the sidearm and spare magazine from the drawer. Shooting drones from the dock is a bad idea. Letting them sit outside the windows and map the interior is worse. If they are transmitting, every second gives Isabel more layout, more movement patterns, more proof that Delia is here.

The living room is empty when I step out. Reva listened. Delia moved. A door opens down the hall, followed by Shiloh’s voice, low and sharp now, stripped of charm.

“Where?”

“Office,” Reva says. “Drones.”

Deacon appears first, gun in hand, shirt untucked over the bandage at his side. He should still be resting. None of us are built right for should, though.

“How many?” he asks.

“Four confirmed.”

“Armed?”

“Finding out.”

Shiloh steps in behind him, damp from rain, eyes already on the windows. “Nash?”

“With Cal. I told him to stay.”

“Good.”

I toss Deacon the spare sidearm from the console because his draw is faster than Shiloh’s and because Shiloh is already moving toward Reva in the hall. “Keep them away from glass. Interior wall. If I say safe room, do not debate me.”

Reva, holding Homer against her chest, appears at the edge of the hallway. “I can hear you.”

“That was intentional.”