Page 213 of What We Become

“How did you even find us?” Eli asks while Gene finishes wrapping his wrists.

Gloria casually checks the chamber on her shotgun. “I had a tracker placed under Milo’s skin when he was fourteen.”

Silence.

Milo gapes from where Dennis is working on his thigh. “You did fucking what?”

Gloria lifts her brows. “Don’t be dramatic. It was a very minor procedure. I did it to all my children.”

“A minor—” Milo’s face goes through outrage, betrayal, and what might actually be existential collapse. “You microchipped me? Like a goddamn schnauzer?”

“Purebred, yes.”

“Jesus Christ, Mom!”

She smiles at him serenely. “I think what you mean to say is thank you, sweetheart.”

He stares at her like he’s deciding whether matricide is morally flexible under the circumstances. Then he scrubs a bloody hand over his face and bites out, “Fuck. Thank you. I’m still mad at you, though.”

“As is your right.”

Fury doesn’t say anything. She’s watching Milo. He looks up and catches her at it, and whatever’s on his face quits being outrage partway through. He doesn’t replace it with a joke.

Dennis pats Milo’s good knee. “Hold still, kiddo.”

Ray says something low to Holden, who shuts his eyes and nods. There’s still too much blood on that side of the barn.

I borrow Gloria’s phone and call Odin.

“We’ve got all five,” I tell him. “Alive. Stephen’s restrained.”

I give him our location and promise another update when we move. Then I hand the phone back.

Fury has one hand resting on my good knee. I cover it with mine.

“We need to decide what we’re doing with him,” Holden says, nodding toward Stephen.

“This is kitten’s choice,” Milo says. “But for the record, my vote is removing his limbs and putting his torso in a pig pen.”

“Jesus, Milo,” Micah says softly from the bucket. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I do, and I stand by my vision.”

“Pigs are inefficient,” Eli says, voice rough with pain. “Too many variables. How about we just go with a plastic bag to the head?”

“Too fast,” Holden forces out. “He deserves to suffer.”

“Then we bury him alive,” Micah says.

I stare at all of them.

We’re bleeding. Half-dead. Held together with gauze and hatred.

And they’re discussing disposal methods like we’re picking takeout.

Gloria beams. “This is a beautiful moment.”

“What do you want to do with him, Fury?” I ask. “Your choice.”