Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Anders
The sound of the world returning was a diesel engine grinding against asphalt.
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass in the living room, buttoning a shirt that had seen better days.
It was wrinkled, missing a button near the collar, and smelled faintly of wood smoke and exertion.
Outside, a county plow truck shoveled the last of the debris from the access road, sparks flying where the blade met the pavement.
Behind it, a yellow utility van from the Department of Transportation idled, they had repaired the broken cable and were confirming the bridge's integrity.
Civilization had come back online. The trap was open.
And I hated it.
A low, vibrating growl started in my chest, involuntary and primal. For forty-eight hours, this glass box had been a universe of its own. No contracts. No emails. No deadlines. Just the storm, the heat, and the visceral reality of keeping Tessa Kane alive.
Now, the road was clear. Which meant the variables were infinite again.
"Stop growling at the plow driver, Anders," Simon muttered from the couch. "He's just doing his job."
I turned. The living room was a testament to the chaos of the night. The rug was rumpled, the fire burned down to ash, and the air was thick with the scent of us, spiced chai, dark chocolate, and bourbon, all layered over the sweet, heavy base note of blackberry that permeated the drywall.
"I’m not growling," I lied, smoothing my cuffs. "I am assessing the logistical reality."
"The logistical reality is that we're out of coffee," Daniel said, emerging from the kitchen.
He held up an empty bag of beans, his face tragic.
"And eggs. And bread. And if I don't get Tessa more protein when she wakes up from her nap, her blood sugar is going to crash harder than the stock market. "
I looked at the empty kitchen island. Then I looked at the medical kit we had scavenged. Empty. The cooling pads were used. The stabilizers were crushed on the floor. We had burned through every resource we had to survive the crisis.
"We need to resupply," I stated, the decision tasting like acid on my tongue.
"We can order delivery," Simon suggested, pulling his knees to his chest. He looked strung out, his dark eyes shadowed, his hands twitching. He hadn't let go of his sketchbook since breakfast. "Drone drop. Courier. Whatever rich people do."
"Not out here," I countered. "Not with the roads just opening. And certainly not with the discretion we require."
I checked my watch.
"We have to go into town," I said. "Seaboard is twenty minutes away. We hit the pharmacy, the grocer, and I need to find a signal booster that actually works. If we are moving her to the city tomorrow, I need to coordinate the security detail for the transport."
"I'm not leaving her," Daniel said. His voice was soft, but it had the immovable quality of a mountain range. He crossed his massive arms over his chest. "She's sleeping. If she wakes up and the house is empty..."
"She isn't a child, Daniel. She's a woman who just survived a biological supernova," I snapped, though I stepped closer, softening my tone. "And right now, that woman needs painkillers that aren't aspirin, proper nutrition, and fresh hydration. We are currently useless to her."
I pointed to his flannel shirt. It was torn at the shoulder.
"And we smell like a riot," I added. "We need to clean up before we execute the extraction. If we walk her into my brownstone looking like this, the doorman calls the police."
Daniel looked down at himself, then at the empty pantry. He let out a sigh that rattled his ribcage.
"Fine. One of us stays."
"No," I said. "We go together. Strength in numbers, speed in execution. If we split up, it takes twice as long. We hit the town, we grab the assets, we return. Sixty minutes. Ninety, tops."
"She's going to freak out," Simon whispered.
"She won't," I said, projecting a confidence I didn't feel. "Because we are going to tell her exactly what we are doing. No more secrets. No more hiding behind the bleachers."
I walked toward the hallway. My heart was hammering a heavy, dull rhythm against my ribs. Every step away from the bedroom felt like stretching a rubber band that was destined to snap back.
Protect the asset.
The mantra used to be about money. Now, it was about the way her breath hitched when she slept.
I pushed the bedroom door open.
The room was dim, the curtains drawn against the grey morning. Tessa was curled in the center of the bed, buried under the duvet. She looked swallowed by the space, small and pale and precious.
I approached the bed. The scent of Brine and Sex hit me, making my knees weak. I knelt beside the mattress, bringing my face level with hers.
"Tessa," I whispered.
She stirred instantly. Her survival instincts were still dialed to eleven. Her grey eyes flew open, finding mine in the gloom.
"Anders?" Her voice was a rusted hinge, scratchy from screaming.
"Hey," I murmured, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her cheek. My hand was steady, but it took effort. "We have to make a run."
She sat up instantly, the duvet falling to her waist. She was wearing one of Daniel’s spare t-shirts, which hung off her shoulder. Panic flared in her eyes, sharp, silvery, and immediate.
"You're leaving?"
"Just resupplying," I corrected, keeping my voice low and level. "We’re out of food and medical supplies. The plow cleared the road, so we’re going to drive into Seaboard to get what you need."
"All of you?" she asked, looking past me to the doorway where Daniel and Simon hovered like anxious ghosts.
"Efficiency," I said. "Daniel handles food. Simon handles gear. I handle the comms. We do it fast; we come back."
She bit her lip, looking at the window. The old fear of abandonment was still there.
"How long?"
"Two hours," I promised. "Maximum."
I reached into the inner pocket of my jacket, which I was currently carrying over my arm, and pulled out the brick-sized device I kept for emergencies.
"Satellite phone," I explained, placing it in her hand. It was heavy, industrial, and ugly. "It bypasses the local towers. It connects directly to the constellation."
I pressed the power button. The screen glowed a reassuring green.
"Number one is my cell," I said, pointing to the speed dial. "Number two is Daniel. Number three is Simon. If you push that red button on the side, it pings your GPS coordinates to my private security team in Seattle, and they deploy a chopper within fifteen minutes."
She looked at the phone, then up at me. "You carry this around?"
"I manage high-value assets," I said, a ghost of a smirk touching my lips. "And you are the highest value."
She curled her fingers around the device. The tension in her shoulders dropped an inch.
"Okay," she whispered. "Two hours."
"Lock the door behind us," Daniel called softly from the doorway. "Top bolt and deadbolt. Don't open it for anyone but us."
"We'll text when we hit the perimeter," Simon added, wringing his hands.
I stood up. My body screamed at me to climb into the bed, to wrap myself around her and let the world burn. Leaving felt like an amputation. It felt wrong on a cellular level.
But logic was my love language. And logic dictated that she needed hydration and ibuprofen more than she needed my body weight right now.
"Two hours," I repeated, leaning down.
I kissed her. It wasn't a soft goodbye peck. I pressed my mouth to hers, firm and claiming, tasting the lingering flavor of us on her tongue. I let the kiss drag out, pouring my reassurance into her, marking her one last time before I stepped out into the cold.
"Go," she breathed against my lips, pushing lightly at my chest. "Before I ask you to stay."
I pulled back, straightening my spine. I nodded once, turned on my heel, and walked out of the room.
"Move," I barked at the others, herding them down the hall. "We’re burning daylight."
The air outside was crisp, smelling of wet pine and diesel fumes. The storm had scrubbed the world clean, leaving behind a stark, high-contrast landscape of dark trees and grey sky.
We piled into the black SUV. The interior still smelled faintly of the drive up, stale coffee and tension. It felt like a lifetime ago.
"I'll drive," I said, snatching the keys before Simon could even reach for them. "I don't need your emotional driving right now, Bradlee."
"My driving is expressive," Simon muttered, climbing into the back seat. He slumped against the window, pulling his hood up.
Daniel took the passenger seat. He filled the space, his knees practically touching the dashboard. He immediately pulled out his phone, watching the signal bars flicker from 'searching' to one fragile dot of LTE as we cleared the treeline.
"It's blowing up," Daniel said, his voice grim.
"What is?" I checked the rearview mirror, reversing down the muddy drive.
"The Agency," Daniel said. "And the studio. And my voicemails."
"Ignore them," I ordered, putting the car in drive. We rolled forward, the tires crunching over the gravel. "We are offline until we secure the supplies."
"Anders, your assistant Gretchen has sent you forty-two emails in the last twelve hours," Daniel read, scrolling. "Subject line: ARE YOU ALIVE? Subject line: LAWSUIT THREAT. Subject line: WHERE IS THE MANUSCRIPT?"
I didn't flinch. I turned onto the main road, the cleared asphalt shining wetly in the gloom.
"Tell Gretchen that due to weather conditions, communication was severed," I dictated, my eyes scanning the road for fallen branches. "Tell her the manuscript is in final revision. And tell her if she emails me again before noon, she's fired."
"You don't mean that," Daniel noted, typing rapidly.
"I mean it," I said. "I dealt with a biological crisis. I haven't slept in thirty hours. My suit is ruined. I have zero patience for corporate panic."
"What about the game studio?" Simon piped up from the back. "They're asking for the character renders."