Chapter 44 #2
My attention snags on Frankie. She's braced against the back table, posture controlled. But the weight sinks into the table edge, one hip carrying everything. Shadows under her eyes dark enough to read from across the room. Knuckles pale around ceramic.
Maggie's voice cuts in, gentle but pointed. "Frankie, when's the last time you slept?"
"Define sleep."
"More than three hours."
Frankie's mouth twitches, too tired for a smile. "It's been a while."
Candace says, "You need to take care of yourself."
"I am. I'm just managing something that requires night hours."
East asks, "The stray?"
The word lands without sound, but the change is immediate. Ruby sharpens. Darla goes still. Nash's focus cuts toward Frankie.
"Yeah."
Ruby angles forward. "Getting worse?"
Frankie exhales through her nose. "Getting louder."
A beat. Arden, near the stairs, stands perfectly still. He knows exactly what Frankie means.
Malachi asks, "This going to be a problem during Chicago?"
"No." Chin lifting, shoulders squaring despite the exhaustion. "Arden and I have it contained."
"Contained isn't handled."
Frankie's smile is thin, sharp-edged. "It'll be handled when it's ready. Until that point, it's contained."
Phoenix produces a folded blueprint, spreading it across the nearest table. "The Blackwell Hotel. Chicago. Three entry points." His finger traces the routes. "East service corridor. Main lobby. Underground garage."
Chicago. The Blackwell.
I know this building. I know the network it feeds.
Two years ago, I was in a basement office three blocks from it, pulling financial records off a server that belonged to Harold Whitcomb.
Whitcomb's slush accounts were funneling money through a Mississippi shell company run by Donovan Castiel.
The same pipeline we've been dismantling piece by piece ever since.
The Blackwell is where the auctions happen. Where men in Harrison's world buy access. Where girls disappear into rooms that look expensive and smell of fear. Whitcomb's money built it. Castiel's network filled it.
Every thread I've traced for two years leads here.
My jaw tightens. The blueprint blurs. Lines become sand, corridors become compound walls.
Three entry points. Armed contractors. Private security.
Phoenix's voice keeps going, but the words shift register, landing with the weight of Pashto instead of English.
Check the perimeter. Secure the approach. Mark the sightlines.
"Armed security at every checkpoint," Phoenix continues. "Private contractors."
The room narrows. Sound goes distant and close at once. Voices layer over the phantom crack of rifle fire, boot steps on tile become boot steps on gravel. My hand drifts toward my hip where a sidearm used to rest.
"Knox." Sloane's voice, low and near. Her hand slides to my forearm, thumb finding my pulse point.
The room snaps back. Clubhouse. Mississippi. I exhale. Let her touch anchor me. Her thumb strokes once. She holds on.
Phoenix continues. "Security rotates every four hours. We time the changeover."
I force myself to track his words. The phantom weight on my shoulder fades by degrees. Malachi's eyes cut to me briefly, a check, back to Phoenix.
Malachi leans forward. "Entry points. Who takes what?"
My chest unlocks. Sloane's grip stays firm on my wrist until Phoenix rolls up the blueprints. The conversation shifts to local operations without ceremony.
"I'll stay," Amelia says. Calm, decided. "Here. Willowridge. This is where it makes sense."
Kyle's head turns toward her. His whole posture lifts, a reaction that's too immediate to be anything but instinct. He just met her twenty minutes ago and he's already rearranging. "So you're staying?"
"Yes."
A breath that could be relief. "That's good. That's really good."
Nash shakes his head. "Careful, kid."
Kyle doesn't look at him. "I am being careful."
Malachi's fists curl against the bar, flatten. "You're sure?"
Amelia meets his gaze without blinking. "I'm sure."
Kyle edges closer. "If you're setting up here, I can help. Whatever you need."
Frankie raises an eyebrow. "Kyle."
Hands up. "I'm offering. Politely."
Amelia studies him. Accepts with a single tilt of her chin. "We'll see."
Kyle beams.
Felix steps closer to Phoenix. "I'll make sure the transition stays clean."
Phoenix inclines his head. "You'll have what you need."
Arden says, "No improvising."
Kyle groans. "That word is haunting me."
"Good," Frankie replies. "Means it's working."
McKenzie touches Sloane's arm. "Can I steal you for a second?"
Sloane looks at me. I nod once. My hand lingers on her back as she steps away.
McKenzie speaks softly, posture open. They move toward the far end of the bar, heads bent together.
I can't hear the words, but I watch Sloane's body.
She goes rigid first. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth.
Her shoulders shake once, hard, and she grabs the edge of the bar with her free hand.
McKenzie's hand finds Sloane's forearm. Firm, steady.
She leans closer, mouth near Sloane's ear.
Sloane drops her hand from her mouth. Her eyes are red and wet; her chin is trembling. She nods. Again. Flattens her palm against her sternum, breathing through it. McKenzie leans in, and Sloane's whole face crumbles. Just for a second. She blinks hard, swallows, sets her lips in a line.
A shaky laugh escapes. She wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand. McKenzie touches her forearm once more, briefly but sure, withdraws. When Sloane comes back, she steps into my space, forehead to my chest, fingers curling into my shirt.
"Anna's safe," she murmurs. Her voice is thick. "She's with them. She chose it. McKenzie said she's working. Even has a place. She's okay, Knox. She's actually okay."
I slide my arm around her and squeeze her gently. Anna. The name Sloane can't say without her hands shaking.
I set my mouth to the top of her head. "Good."
She stays against my chest until she settles.
Darla drifts closer, East moving with her. "I'm glad," Darla says, voice careful. "She deserves that."
Sloane lifts her head. "Yeah. She does."
East squeezes Darla's hand. "You hear that? Safe exists."
Darla's grip tightens around his. "It does here."
Frankie clears her throat. "Protections are up. Shop and clubhouse. Reinforced."
The room absorbs it the way it absorbs the sage.
Phoenix looks to Malachi. "I can add eyes. Discreet ones."
Malachi nods without hesitation. "Do it."
Arden says, "We're visible. They're watching how we move."
Phoenix nods. "We move as though we know it."
The silence holds. Sloane tilts her head up, eyes meeting mine. Her eyes are wet. Her jaw is set. She holds my eyes without blinking. I lower my forehead to hers, breathing her in.
Across the room, Phoenix rolls the blueprint tight and hands it to Malachi. Malachi takes it without a word and walks toward the war room. The rest of us follow.