Chapter Seven #2
He nodded once, eyes on the caravan. “Did Olive seem nervous after Orientation?”
“She was anxious, but not in a way that worried me. More like… she’s bracing for impact. She knows what to expect, and she knows the plan. She’ll stay with Stella and Bodhi in the back of the Longhouse until we’ve spoken to the family, and once we come in, she can join us.”
“I’m glad she knows the plan,” he said. “That’s not why I asked. She’s minutes away from seeing almost everyone she loves for the first time in two and a half years, and she’s in there with our daughter who cries when I stub my toe and don’t make a sound.”
“So is Bodhi.”
The corner of his mouth moved in a ghost of a smile that never fully materialized. “I’m glad he’s here. He calms her.”
“Me, too.” My own pulse ticked faster than I wanted it to. I kept my hands still at my sides and focused on the convoy.
Four dark XL SUVs pushed through the dust, parting it like water.
No markings, clean plates, nothing to draw a second look.
Only well-kept steel with miles in their bones.
The lead truck eased to a stop at the first checkpoint, the rest slowly stacking up behind it.
Marcel’s men advanced with relaxed shoulders and quick eyes as they waited for the convoy to be cleared by the first guard booth.
Calm, because this was standard. Temporary housing and orientation folded into discipline, morning drills, and order—in a place built to receive entire families without breaking stride.
Familiar enough for Thomas and me. For the rest of our civilian family... anything but.
The first SUV rolled forward to the second checkpoint and braked at the chalk line.
After a minute or two, Taylor climbed out of the passenger seat, broad shoulders unfolding like the cab had been a size too small.
He swept the compound in a slow arc, his jaw locked, mouth pressed thin.
Falyn stepped down from the door behind him, same side, one arm hooking his.
I wasn’t sure which one of them she meant to reassure… maybe both.
Last time I saw Falyn, her eyes held fire.
Now, they were empty, hollow. Swollen, dark circles beneath, lids puffy from tears that hadn’t had time to heal.
Her hair was twisted up into a loose, messy knot, not that she cared.
The outfit read like a grab-and-go. No decisions, just the first things her hands touched.
Two children slid out of the back seat after them, lanky and restless in that middle stage between child and teenager.
Hollis first, inches taller than the last time I’d seen him, scanning the compound with fascination and awe.
Hadley followed, staying closer to Falyn’s side, eyes flicking from one armed guard to the next as if she were counting them.
I was certain none of the grandkids knew the full story, not yet.
They only knew their parents had been summoned, and that something had broken loose around the name Olive.
I tracked their movements like I would any new arrivals to a containment site.
Gait, posture, eye contact. Taylor placed himself slightly in front of his family without making it obvious, his body angling toward the militia guards as they approached.
Protect. Interpose. It was instinctive. It was also directed at the wrong threat.
“Supportive and furious,” I said under my breath.
Taylor’s breathing seemed controlled, shoulders loose enough to move. Every inch of him, though, suggested he was waiting for an excuse to murder someone.
The second SUV eased to a stop behind the first. Tyler was visible in the back seat, which already told me something about how they’d divided hierarchy on the way here.
Ellison climbed out from behind him, one hand on the door, the other on the strap of a bag slung across her chest. She swept the compound with a clear, assessing look before reaching in to coax out their son, Gavin.
The third SUV rolled in and the air changed. I felt it, the way conversations drop and eyes shift when someone with a reputation that precedes him arrives. As the man climbed down, it confirmed my instincts.
Trenton seemed to test the dusty ground under his feet as he stepped out.
His expression was flat enough to pass for neutral to anyone who didn’t know him.
I knew better. His shoulders were too still, his brows drawn just enough to signal restraint, but not calm.
His hands were empty, hanging loose at his sides, but the muscles in his forearms stood out with the effort it took to keep them that way.
Camille stepped out after him, already focused on the baby in the car seat still fastened in.
Their son, Oliver, appeared in her arms a second later, heavy with sleep, cheek pressed against her shoulder, thumb tucked in his mouth.
She adjusted his weight automatically, smoothing his hair.
Her face turned toward Trenton, toward the guards, then the gates behind them.
A quiet warning lived in her eyes, impossible to miss.
She was the only voice Trenton would hear until he saw Olive, and she knew it.
“Trenton is at about an eight,” I murmured.
“Out of…?” Thomas asked.
He didn’t expect or need the answer, but I gave it, anyway. “Ten. He won’t swing first, not in front of the kids. That doesn’t mean he won’t if given the smallest reason.”
“Fair,” Thomas said. “How about Taylor?”
“Seven… and a half,” I said.
Travis rounded the back of the fourth SUV, pulling open the back passenger door for James as he hopped out, his twin sister Jessica behind him before his feet evened out on the ground.
Both were tall, gangly, and suddenly not children anymore, both with braces and headphones resting around their necks.
Abby appeared then, Carter’s small hand in hers, both moving slower than the others, blinking from the dry, sandy air.
He let go of her long enough to tug on his father’s sleeve and then returned to the comfort of his mother.
Travis ruffled his youngest son’s hair, then reached for each of the twins, guiding them closer.
A brief tethering, reminding his children, who were old enough to be afraid, that he still stood between them and whatever came next.
When he straightened, his attention had already shifted toward the gate.
Everyone he loved stood behind it now. He understood the stakes, and he glared at the steel as if he were already choosing where to put his hands to tear it off its hinges.
Even so, Travis wasn’t as visibly angry as Taylor or Trenton.
He didn’t have to be. He took his time to meet the eyes of every guard within reach, one by one, offering a single unspoken warning: hurt them, and this compound burns to the ground with you in it.
Abby hovered just behind, their children framed between them—not gathered for comfort but positioned to protect.
Corporal Fonseco approached the first truck with a clipboard and tablet. Names were checked, IDs verified, phones surrendered. Luggage was wanded lightly and waved through, more process than suspicion.