Page 93 of What We Become

“—and the thing about hidden cameras is you need plausible maintenance access, otherwise it’s just set dressing⁠—”

“Milo.”

“Hmm.”

“Sleep.”

“Fine.” He yawns again, jaw cracking. “For the record, telling people things is exhausting. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Practice.”

“You never practice. You store everything in a vault and let it out once a year like a murderous groundhog.” His voice is going soft at the edges, consonants giving up. “Six more weeks of emotional honesty . . .”

Then he’s out. Mid-sentence, one hand still curled in my shirt, breathing slow and even against my ribs. No generator hum or queued-up jokes rattling behind his teeth. Just Milo, quiet, and still here.

I lie awake and listen to the house. Knox’s footsteps on the lower level. The wind pressing against glass. Then I think about the pills sitting on the table, and how he just promised to reach for them himself if he needs them.

Progress.

Sixteen years old, and he picked up the first thing within reach because nobody with a badge was coming to save his mother. I’ve spent my whole career cleaning up after the system that failed her, and him, and Sage, and everyone else who learned the law was a locked door.

I never want to let the people I love down again.

TWENTY-ONE

SAGE

The axe bites into the log with a crack that carries across the clearing, and something low in my stomach tightens in appreciation.

Three weeks in, the cabin has reshaped us.

Not all at once, or in any dramatic kind of way. More like the way water changes a rock, slow and constant, smoothing away the roughest edges before anyone notices the shape has changed.

When Odin first suggested coming out here, it honestly felt like giving up—like running away when all of us wanted to charge headfirst into whatever it took to find Stephen and make him pay for what he did to me and all those girls.

We still want that. But out here, with nothing to chase and nowhere else to look, the urgency has been forced to cool into patience.

Don’t get me wrong, we still lock every door. Knox still circles the house before bed, the others still sit around the table with Milo, going over whatever scraps Odin’s people have sent through on the two laptops, and every unexpected sound in the trees still draws eyes and held breath. Stephen is out there. Nothing about the cabin changes that.

But my lungs are clear now, and the daily hikes we’ve been taking are getting longer. I made it all the way to the lookout this morning without stopping once. Dr. Shahid would probably prefer a medical assessment to prove I’m healing, but I did it with sweat between my shoulder blades, mud on my boots, and the deeply satisfying memory of all five men trying not to look worried every time the path got steep.

I’ll take it.

Knox lifts the axe again, the gray thermal stretched across his shoulders dark with sweat, then brings it down in one clean, brutal arc. The log splits neatly and drops away from the block.

“You know staring is considered rude.” Holden’s voice comes from behind me a second before his hand settles on my hip.

“I’m appreciating the view.”

“There’s a valley right there.”

“I’ve seen the valley.”

His mouth brushes the side of my neck. “Cold, wildcat.”

“Not really. This is making me pretty hot.”

He chuckles as I lean back against him, tilting my head to find his gaze fixed on Knox too.