18. Finn
Chapter 18
Finn
Numbers have always been my sanctuary. The precise measurements of a perfect cup of coffee. The exact temperature water needs to reach before breaking surface tension. The careful calculation of how many hours until the next beta falls to Sterling’s virus.
I adjust the grinder to exactly 3.5 seconds per cup, letting the mechanical whir cover the sound of my thoughts. Above me, the pack moves in their predictable patterns—a dance I’ve memorized over years of observation. Jinx’s door remains closed, his usual dawn patrols abandoned for whatever darkness last night stirred in him. Theo’s music bleeds through walls, Chopin speaking the words our omega can’t voice.
And from the basement...
My hands don’t shake as I measure the coffee into the filter. Don’t betray how the numbers still echo in my mind—twenty-three confirmed deaths, possibly twice that unreported. I’ve always been good at hearing what others miss. At calculating odds others prefer to ignore.
The first drop of coffee hits the carafe just as Ryker emerges from below. He carries satisfaction in his shoulders but shadows in his eyes. The combination sets off warning bells in the part of my brain that never stops analyzing, never stops planning contingencies.
“She’ll need food.” He doesn’t specify who. Doesn’t need to. We’re all orbiting the same star lately, waiting for it to either warm us or burn us to ash.
“Shoulder bothering her?” I reach for my chess set—the one with pieces carved from ebony and maple, each one weighted perfectly for the endgame I sense approaching.
“Among other things.” His attempt at casual falls flat between us. We’ve known each other too long for such obvious deflection.
I tuck the board under my arm, balance it against the weight of fresh coffee and calculated risks. “Time for a strategy session then.”
“The chess kind or the other kind?”
“With her?” I allow myself a small smile, the kind that says I’ve already seen the next ten moves. “You know better than anyone—it’s all the same game.”
The basement stairs creak under my feet—a tactical advantage we’ve never fixed. Can’t sneak up or down them without broadcasting your presence. Not that she needs the warning system anymore. She’s mapped every weak spot in our defenses, just like I knew she would.
Just like I would.
Her door stands slightly ajar, morning light painting shadows through the gap. I pause, listening to the subtle shifts of movement inside. The way her breath catches slightly—shoulder probably needs ice, not heat.
“Bringing peace offerings?” Her voice carries equal parts amusement and wariness as I push the door open.
“Coffee and chess.” I set both on the small table by her bed, taking in the details others might miss. The way she’s favoring her left side. The careful arrangement of pillows supporting her shoulder. The calculations running behind her eyes.
“Quite the combination.” She eyes the chess set—my private set, the one even Ryker rarely touches. “Special occasion?”
“Consider it preventative medicine.” I pour coffee with precise movements, adding exactly one sugar—the way she takes it when she’s carrying too much weight on her shoulders. “Your shoulder needs checking, and you need distraction while I work.”
“And the chess set?”
“Sometimes the best way to plan your next move is to practice with smaller stakes.” I begin setting up the pieces, each one finding its predetermined place. “Though I suspect you’re already several games ahead.”
Her laugh holds edges sharp enough to cut. “That obvious?”
“To someone who counts cards for fun?” I hand her the coffee, noting how her fingers tremble slightly. “Let’s just say I recognize a fellow strategist when I see one.”
“Black or white?” I ask, though I already know her answer. She always chooses black when she’s planning something destructive. Letting the opponent make the first move while she calculates weaknesses.
“Black.” She settles against her pillows, wincing slightly. “Though I’m starting to think neither of us is playing the color we pretend to be.”
Interesting choice of words. I make my opening move—queen’s pawn, classic and predictable. “Morality isn’t always as clear as black and white pieces on a board.”
“Like watching your pack clean up after an interrogation?” But she mirrors my move, setting up a symmetric defense. Perfect positioning for either attack or retreat.
“Like watching you calculate exactly how to use your friends’ particular talents.” I keep my tone mild as I advance my knight. The smell of blood and antiseptic still clings to Jinx’s clothes in the laundry. “You weren’t exactly surprised by their methods.”
Her hand stills over her bishop. “That obvious?”
“To someone who’s built a life around reading people?” I allow myself a small smile. “You forget—I was the first one who saw through your hacktivism to the hero complex beneath.”
“Not a hero.” She moves her bishop, aggressive positioning that leaves her queen vulnerable. “Just someone with a job to do.”
“The job of protecting everyone except yourself?” I capture her exposed pawn, noting how she doesn’t even flinch at the loss. “Interesting strategy.”
“Tell me something, Finn. With your analytical mind and all those psychology degrees—what’s the real mortality rate of the virus?”
The question hits harder than any chess move. Trust her to go straight for what keeps me up at night.
“Higher than the official numbers.” I keep my voice steady, clinical, though my fingers tighten on my bishop. “The quantum tracking program complicates accurate data collection. We need a secure way to investigate without leading him to more victims.”
“How many, Finn?” Her next move is aggressive, protective—like she’s trying to shield her pieces from an invisible threat.
“You know I won’t lie to you.”
“That’s why I’m asking you.” She meets my eyes over the board. “Not Ryker with his protection, or Jinx with his rage, or Theo with his comfort. You. The one who counts cards and calculates odds and knows exactly how this ends.”
I consider my next move carefully—both on the board and in this conversation. “Twenty-three confirmed deaths in the last month. Possibly twice that unreported.”
Her knight takes my bishop. “And how many more while I play house with a pack of overprotective alphas?”
“Hollow Plague.” The name feels heavy on my tongue. “That’s what they’re calling it now. Fitting, considering how it leaves its victims—empty shells of corrupted code and crashed systems.”
“Pretty name for an ugly truth.” She sacrifices another pawn, but I see the trap she’s laying. Three moves ahead, always. “You know what the worst part is?”
“Besides knowing Sterling engineered it specifically to target betas?” I counter her trap with a subtle defense. “Or besides knowing that one hack into Omega Guardian’s systems was enough to compromise everything?”
“Besides knowing that trying to help once—just once—led him straight to them.” Her queen slides into position, threatening my defenses. “I haven’t even touched a keyboard in two months, and people are still dying because of what I did.”
“You’re not him.”
“Aren’t I?” Her laugh holds no humor. “You don’t need to see my code to know I think like him. Calculate like him. The way he designed that tracking program... it’s exactly how I would have done it.”
“But not why you would have done it.” I move my knight to protect my king. “That’s where the real difference lies.”
“Intent doesn’t matter much to the dead.”
“No.” I capture her knight, forcing her to adjust her strategy. “But it matters to those of us watching you carry guilt that isn’t yours to bear.”
Her fingers trace the edge of her queen, considering her next move. Both on the board and off it. “How long before the next death?”
“Statistics suggest 48 hours. Maybe less.”
Her queen takes my rook—a calculated sacrifice I should have seen coming. “Then we both know what I have to do.”
“We also know what we could have.” I move my bishop, opening a path she probably already saw coming. “Theo’s been planning, you know. Has the whole pack hierarchy mapped out.”
The tight line of her mouth softens at the corners, the vertical crease between her eyebrows smoothing as her eyelids lower a fraction. For just a moment, the mask of calculation slips, revealing a glimpse of longing that disappears just as quickly. “Theo plans everything.”
“He does.” I allow myself a small smile. “Did you know he’s already redesigned the basement? Proper office setup, custom security system you’d actually approve of. He has sketches.”
“Of course he does.” But her next move is less aggressive, almost wistful. “Let me guess—he’s got the whole pack dynamic figured out too?”
“Down to the last detail.” I capture another pawn, watching how she adjusts her strategy. “You and Jinx creating beautiful chaos together. Ryker pretending to hate it while secretly loving every minute. Me keeping everyone’s books balanced while Theo makes sure we’re all properly fed.”
“Sounds perfect.” Her smile carries warmth beneath the worry. “Almost too perfect to risk.”
“Nothing worth having comes without risk.” I meet her eyes over the board. “That’s what makes us work—we’re all willing to fight for this. To find a way through this crisis together.”
“Finn...” Her queen hovers over the board, protective rather than uncertain. “We have to find a way that doesn’t lead him to more victims.”
“I’m not making it anything. I’m just stating facts. It’s what I do.” I gesture to the board between us. “Like the fact that you’re three moves from checkmate but you’re letting me close anyway. Like the fact that Theo stress-baked you a whole menu for today. Like the fact that Jinx has been pacing the garage since dawn, probably planning to teach you motorcycle maintenance.”
Her hand trembles slightly as she finally moves her queen. “You really don’t fight fair.”
“No,” I agree softly. “I just count cards and calculate odds and know exactly what we’re all risking. The question is—do you?”
The look she gives me could cut glass. “Now that was fighting dirty.”
“Simply presenting all variables for proper risk assessment.” I move my knight, knowing it’s the wrong play but making it anyway. Sometimes losing a piece gains you the game. “That’s what betas do, isn’t it? Calculate the odds?”
“You forgot one variable.” She takes my knight, exactly as planned. “The cost of being wrong.”
“Did I?” I study her face, catching all the micro-expressions she thinks she’s hiding. “Or did I factor that in along with Theo’s architectural plans and Jinx’s garage lessons and Ryker’s...” I pause deliberately. “Well. Last night’s variables.”
Color floods her cheeks. “You’re worse than an alpha sometimes, you know that?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I move my bishop into what appears to be a vulnerable position. “Your move.”
Her eyes narrow at the board, at the trap she thinks I’m laying. But I’m not playing chess anymore—not really. I’m playing something far more dangerous.
I’m playing for keeps.
“Your move,” I say again when she hesitates too long. “Unless you’re distracted by thoughts of Theo’s other plans.”
“What other plans?” She moves her rook, still favoring caution.
“The nursery designs.” My voice warms with genuine hope as I advance my queen. “Third floor, east wing. Best natural light in the house.”
She freezes, piece hovering mid-move. “He didn’t.”
“He did. Mapped it out the day after you took that bullet for him.” Something tight catches in my throat. “Complete with a connecting office so you can work while watching the little ones. Binary code mixed with fairy tales on the walls—he says it represents the perfect blend of pack and technology.”
“That’s...” Her voice catches. “That’s not fair.”
“No?” I capture her bishop. “Or is it just another variable you’re trying not to calculate?”
“A nursery,” she whispers, like the word might break something. “He really...”
“Plans for three, actually. Says the pack feels incomplete without the sound of little feet.” I watch her face carefully. “Jinx already started picking out motorcycles for them. Don’t worry—age appropriate ones.”
“Jinx with kids.” But her smile holds something painful. “That would be something.”
“It would be everything.” I move my queen into position. “Check.”
She stares at the board like it might hold answers to questions she hasn’t even let herself ask. “You really don’t fight fair, Finn.”
“No,” I agree softly. “I fight to win. Your move.”
“Your move,” I say again, but we both know we’re not talking about chess anymore.
She stares at the board between us—this battlefield of black and white where we’ve been waging a different kind of war. Her fingers trace the edge of her queen, and I catch the slight tremor that betrays more than words ever could.
“You know what gives me hope?” She finally moves her piece, a defensive play that speaks of protection rather than surrender. “When I think about it—the nursery, the kids, the future—it makes me want to fight harder. Find a way to end this without leading him to more victims.”
“We’ll find it together.” I make my final move, gentle but determined. “Checkmate. But in chess, as in life, there’s always another game.”
She tips her king over, watching it fall. The soft thud against the board echoes with something that feels too much like goodbye.
“Thank you, Finn.” She starts resetting the pieces, each one finding its place with precise care. “For never lying to me.”
“Even when the truth hurts?”
“Especially then.” She hands me my chess set, and I pretend not to notice how her hands shake. “That’s what makes you different from him. From Sterling.”
I stand, tucking the board under my arm. At the door, I pause. “You know, the thing about chess is... sometimes protecting one piece means understanding when to move the whole board. We’ll find a new secure location, Cayenne. One where we can finally end this game with Sterling.”
Her soft laugh follows me up the stairs, carrying equal parts warmth and resignation. We both know our next game won’t be played with carved pieces on a wooden board.
I just hope she remembers that in chess, every piece matters—even the ones that think they’re expendable.