Page 104 of What We Become

Odin is in the center of the room, wearing a charcoal suit. I genuinely don’t think he understands the term “smart casual.”

He looks at the three of us coming down the stairs and says nothing of how disheveled we all look.

“Miss Adams. Good to see you looking well.”

“What’s happened?” I ask, because Odin doesn’t strike me as a person who makes house calls for good news, and he definitely doesn’t seem the type to drive to a classified mountain cabin for a wellness check.

“Nothing has happened. That’s precisely the issue.” He folds his hands behind his back. “The man we now know as Stephen Mercer-Davis is in the wind.”

The room exchanges glances.

“My team tracked him across state lines—Ohio, then Pennsylvania, then briefly into Maryland. Cash transactions only, no digital footprint, different vehicles at each stop. He was moving fast and moving smart.” Odin pauses. “Then the trail vanished. Completely. Outside Annapolis, three weeks ago. No credit activity. No phone pings. No vehicle sightings.”

“He got on a boat,” Milo says. Not a question.

“That’s our assessment. The marina in Annapolis showed a private vessel departing on the same date. No passenger manifest required for that class of craft. If he’s on it, he could be anywhere—Caribbean, Mediterranean, South America.”

“Okay, but how?” Milo’s hand goes still on his arm. “I’ve had scripts running on every alias, every plate, every card hash that man has ever breathed near. Four weeks. I got aggressive nonexistence. You got him through three states with vehicle swaps and cash only. So either your people are better than me—respectfully, no—or somebody handed you a trail.”

“My people have access you do not,” Odin says.

“Everybody has access I don’t have.” Milo shrugs. “I take it anyway.”

“Yes.” Odin lets that sit one second too long. “Which is why I use my people.”

“Or he could have doubled back,” Holden says. Flat. The cop brain running. “He went quiet for six weeks before the beach house too. We called that an absence. It was a man working.”

“Possible but unlikely. My team has maintained surveillance on your property, the beach house, and every known associate. Nothing. No approach, no contact, no indication he’s returned to the area.” Odin meets Holden’s eyes. “We’ll keep the investigation open, of course. Every resource stays active until he’s found or confirmed dead. But at this moment, the immediate threat has dissolved.”

“Dissolved,” Knox repeats, and the word sounds heavier coming out of his mouth. Like he’s testing its weight and finding it insufficient.

“For now,” Odin says. “Which means it’s time to come home.”

Nobody speaks.

We’ve had an entire month of mountain air and safety and bread and sex and fairy lights and wood carving and nobody trying to kill me—well, except Milo with his “fucking knife”—and now the door is open and the world is on the other side of it and I’m not sure any of us are ready to walk through.

“The house has been swept,” Odin continues. “Clean. No devices, no surveillance, no evidence of entry. My team will maintain a presence for as long as you need—rolling patrol, exterior cameras. You’ll have a security upgrade installed before you arrive.”

“And then what?” Eli asks.

“You resume your lives. With appropriate caution.”

“Appropriate caution,” Milo repeats. “Is that the official Odin term for constant low-grade terror?”

“It’s the official Odin term for reminding the Hangmen—as you like to call yourselves—that they have work to do. The list of men requiring a reckoning hasn’t gotten any shorter in the last month.”

I get it. We’re being told to resume the culling. No more vacation.

There’s a sharp, sudden ache in my chest—a combination of dread, and relief, and a tiny, sick thrill that I’m too ashamed to name. We were always going to go back. This moment was coming since the morning I woke up with an oxygen mask strapped to my face.

“Cool,” Milo says, with all the conviction of a wet bag of Cheerios. “Are we allowed to get groceries, or do we just start hunting predators the moment we set foot in Hunter Harbor?”

Odin’s mouth twitches. “Live as you wish. Just be watchful.” He lets the words hang, then turns his gaze on me. “I also understand you have a birthday approaching, Miss Adams.”

I blink. “How do you know that?”

“I know most things,” he states. “I’d like to offer one of the private rooms at the club for your celebrations. I’ll have my assistant reach out to you with details.”